Power
by Insarai Arys
Summary: The Man Behind the Mask, The Child Behind the Façade, The Child Behind the Propaganda and The Teacher and Educator of Truth and Right. A Seer once saw those four people. Blood will out. Truth will surface. And Lies will be revealed for what they are...
1. A Tale Begun and a Prophesy Revealed

My tale begins two hundred years ago.

A child was born into a world of riches and fine manners. This child grew up with his other brother and learnt of many things both good and evil. He was set to inherit a large fortune of land and money and knowledge but it was but a fraction of what his older brother would inherit.

Human greed is universal, but in this case, it was only focused from one man to his brother.

So he plotted to relieve his brother of the fortune and therefore the position of head of the family. Because, as the child, no a man now, knew if his brother had children he would never see a knut of the families gold, jewels and ancient tomes or land. Forever the lesser brother.

So this man, once a fine gentleman set himself the task of destroying his brother and ridding the world of his brother's line. He learnt the Dark Arts, bought slander to the name of Slytherin by tales and dishonesty and in time, killed his brother. From the point of view of society. All that is known is that when the brother was a one score and a century old, he vanished without a trace. No evidence of foul play was ever found and few ever suspected it anyway. Who can believe a man cannot love his brother, his family, his blood? Only those who know of it can, and most do not. The sister of the brothers vanished too but who can know of her when no-one knew of her birth?

But all this had come at a price and it was not a price that the people could ignore. It cost The Man his sanity and his soul. He took a place teaching transfiguration at a fine institution of Learning, and took up the role of the kind protector and guider. Gradually people forgot the death of his brother and began to praise the name of the man. As time passed and so did those who remembered the mystery, few knew of the suspicions surrounding the Man. But the Dark Arts had cost him more than just his mind. It has cost him his morals and his ideals that were good and acceptable. He hid it well behind a façade of jovialness and loyalty, but there were times when the mask cracked and people saw the true man.

One such man was Grindlewald. He had his own ideals and ways but he wanted to impress them on the world. The man now well into his hundred years used Grindlewald to remove people who knew about his part in His his father's death and that of his brother. Over a period of ten years he had people murdered, poisoned, had them sent to prison where they died. Those who noticed the man's connection vanished before they could tell anyone. Grindlewald died and the man claimed the kill. People hailed the man as a hero and said he was great. But greatness is not won from one kill that no-body saw. Even then suspicions rose again, though much quieter and fewer than before. No-one dares correct a hero unless someone else does it first.

He took his teaching place back at a magical school but he was never sorted to a house. He cultured a young boy from the house that was dark. He taught him the Arts of the Darkness, he talked about the people who had achieved greatness through them and he taught him to achieve only what the man wanted him to achieve. And most of all, he taught the child the Arts of Hatred and he fuelled the hatred with more.

The reason, people were forgetting how he saved the world, how he 'Defeated' Grindlewald. And so he made the boy his pawn in the game of politics and later he used the boy, as he used Grindlewald.

A young wanna-be-seer, needing a place to stay and a steady income dug up an old prophesy from an old tome. Much of them older than memory, the one she chose was:

_Three shall come who shall stop the impostor, _

_One born to ride the waves and wield the sea, born to a life of riches and lives a life of riches,  
_

_One born to fly and wield the winds, born to a life of riches, and live a life of rags and ruin,  
_

_Both guided by the Educator and the Teacher, and who weild's power beyond the means of humanity.  
_

_They shall form a mighty bond, _

_Together they will triumph over Evil _

_They will unite the races to combat an evil, _

_Born of the Old Ones, the two are great_

_The Teacher their guide in the Darkest of Times,_

_But beware, those that cross them shall burn in Hell,_

_The ill-doers shall rue the day that they did ill, _

_For the three will unite and the three will conquer, _

_But for which side is yet be decided,_

The rest of the Prophecy was lost to history and it so happened that the man knew of two of the two children, babes in arms and still so powerful. He assumed to know the Eductor, the different one, and he knew they would come to Hogwarts so he would know them then.

He had one of the children's parents killed, had made plans to have them placed with abusive people and manipulated the whole scenario.

The Teacher spoke and their need was granted and they came to the two and then to Hogwarts, five long years after the other two came into the school and declared war upon the other.

The Educator forced them to hear the true tale and prophecy, then changed their whole perspectives. A tale of wonder, misery and relevelations came after, and then the time of revolution came.

For a tale once told cannot be untold. A word once spoken can never be unspoken. A sight seen can never been unseen. And yet the Old Man tried and so did the child he once tried to rule the world with. It is the law of the Gods. And you cannot change that.

Change is necessary and comes about naturally.

Sometimes though, it is necessary to bring it about by force, regardless of consequence.

You might be able to ignore the demands of mankind.

Can you ignore the demands of the Gods?


	2. The Power of Dreams

_It's cold and it's snowing. That's the first thing the boy notices. The second is that he's not alone. A dark shape stands next to the wall and shakes and shivers. The boy draws a thin pointed stick from the inside of his abnormally large sleeve. He points it in the direction of the dark shape and walks cautiously forward. The shape huddles up to the wall as if to gain some minute amount of heat. _

"_Hello?" the boy asks with a note of concern in his voice, reaching forward with one hand. _

_Suddenly the shape whips around and a thin hand grabs his wrist. The boy gasps as he sees the hand, every finger is clearly shattered, and it is raw and bleeding with a single metal band around the wrist. The band though isn't for decoration; it is too tight and has evidently broken the skin around it. The fingers though look as though they had been put through a mangle and then attacked by some bastard with a hammer. _

_The boy raised his head to meet the face behind the hand and for once in his life, was totally and utter speechless. There was no way to explain what this child (for that was what it was) had to go through. _

_There was a black eye, three brutal scars, cuts, scrapes and so many fading bruises that the skin looked like a patch work quilt. The boy was repulsed yet intrigued by the look of patient suffering upon the child's face. _

"_You must fight the impostor." The child spoke in a harsh whisper almost in his ear. "Please, do not fight me. You are born to be one of Them. And so is your destiny to follow the path. Follow the light, see the dark and never give up" the child dug it's finger's to his arm, leaving a set of glowing prints, lit up like there was no tomorrow they slowly faded out of sight. The child took a length of woven thread and tied it around his wrist. _

"_Go, my brother!" the child cried after him. _

_The boy could see his surroundings fading, watching them disappearing into swirls of colour. _

"_Remember, your destiny still awaits you!" the child cried out, as the boy faded from view. _

Harry James Potter sat up with a start. He was shaking and cold but oddly enough his scar wasn't burning as it normally did when Voldemort sent the dreams. Harry rolled over and out of bed, with a groan and a popping of his spine.

"Ahhh! That feels good." He muttered, reaching onto his bed side table for his glasses. Once said glasses were on, he stretched and ambled over to his owl cage. In the cage was a snowy white owl with large staring amber eyes, which at the moment were looking at Harry with a unique mixture of affection, annoyance and amusement.

The reason Harry had an owl, about ten books on the floor, with bizarre names like, _Hexes, Jinxes and Curses for the Mischief-Maker in All of Us_, and _Brewing Potions, not Blowing them Up_ and various other strange and wonderful things was surprisingly simple: Harry James Potter was a wizard. One who learnt levitation as an art, who blew up cauldrons on a regular basis and who was in the middle of reading a very interesting book on Animagi and how to become one and one who was destined to destroy a very evil Wizard called Voldemort.

Voldemort had rampaged across the world, killing those he did not believe worthy or those who opposed his beliefs. His loyal followers had called themselves Death Eaters and killed those who Voldemort deemed unworthy to die by his hand. Harry's parents, James and Lily Potter had gone into hiding to protect their baby and had used a charm to hide themselves from the rest of the world. The one person who knew where they were sold them out to Voldemort and consequently disappeared. Voldemort had come to Harry's family home to kill the entire family. Harry was the sole survivor of a Killing Curse that had killed his mother, almost fifteen years before. Voldemort's body had been destroyed as the second curse that had rebounded off of him and his spirit had fled. Baby Harry had been left, in the ruins of his family home, with his dead mother and a lightning blot scar in the centre of his forehead. Ever since he had lived with the Durselys and their foul son.

Harry gazed out of his window, and studied the stars. In less than three weeks he was going back to his school, Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and most unusual for a teenager, he was looking forward to it. Maybe it was because he was an orphan or just maybe because his only living relatives were complete and utter bastards and idiots.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley were perfectly normal and so was their son Dudley. Vernon Dursley was a large, beefy man with a bizarre ability to turn every shade of red, purple and pink in less than two minutes and he was never in a pleasant mood with Harry. Petunia Dursley was Harry's aunt from his mother's side yet if there was anyone less like Lily then it was Petunia. With a long neck, a screech not unlike than of a screech owl Petunia was the worst person in Harry's mind. And then there was Dudley Dursley, the bane behind Harry's existence at the Dursley. He was grossly overweight, bordering on the size of a blue whale, obnoxious and arrogant. As far as Harry was concern his cousin had defied medical history and had, instead of evolving with the rest of the human race, stayed on the mental level of a slug with an appetite for violence.

"Potter, get up. Up now, I said!" The horrific screech of Aunt Petunia came through his door. Harry snatched up the dirty clothes; his cousin's cast-offs and headed toward the bathroom. After showering and drying his hair, Harry scampered across the landing into his room. He dumped the dirty clothes in the linen bin outside his door and shut his door behind him. Rummaging in his trunk he retrieved the smallest of his sweaters and lifted his hand to scratch his head when he froze. Around his wrist was a perfect band woven thread, identical to the one in his dream. As if in a dream Harry stumbled across the room and sat down on his bed, hard.

The dream, it had been real. Immediately, Harry's mind jumped to the conclusion that Voldemort was some how influencing his dreams but then he recalled his scar hadn't hurt. This led him to draw up several conclusions. Conclusion number one, he was going insane. Conclusion number two, Voldemort was changing his tactics. And the last and most disturbing conclusion, that a third player had come to the war and wanted Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived on their side.

This was not good news and Harry immediately set about writing a note to his headmaster and to his best friends. As Harry sent the letters off, using his owl, Hedwig, he thought about the dream. Because unlike every other dream he had had, he hadn't woken up in a sweat or screaming. In fact, he felt better than ever and could quite honestly say, he was content.

"Boy, come downstairs and make Dudder's breakfast! Now Boy!"

As Harry left his room, he looked at the bracelet. It wasn't very thick, maybe a centimetre wide and it fitted snugly about his wrist. It was woven with blues and whites making Harry think of air and the sky and all things free. But the odd thing was, there was no catch or knot where it had been done up and Harry couldn't see how it could fit over his hand. It was almost as if it had been conjured on there. Harry rubbed the bracelet with a finger and he felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort, and Harry wondered weather this was what having parents, or a girlfriend was like.

As Harry ran downstairs, he vaguely recalled the dream. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, that he didn't see the child from the dream, watching from a corner.

"Soon my brother, soon we shall meet outside the Dream Realm. Blessed Be!"


	3. Beginning of the Breaking

The Beginning of the Breaking

"Boy" said Uncle Vernon by way of greeting and looked pointedly towards the kitchen area.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon" Harry said tonelessly. He walked over to the fridge and got out the eggs, bacon, mushrooms, sausages, and tomatoes. He began cooking the breakfast and, moving on auto-pilot, he contemplated the bizarre but not unpleasant dream. He had felt a connection to the child, almost as though he had known her his whole life. Harry felt the feeling wash through his body again and it felt right. It was as though he had been blind his whole life and the dream had given him his sight back. Harry decided on a whim to call her his angel, even if he didn't know why. It was the right name for her, he thought, his mind bringing the image of the child to mind. Harry halted his mental train of thought. He was definitely going sappy, almost like the men in the romance novels Aunt Petunia insisted on reading. Harry shuddered, as he imagined himself as one of those men. He mentally grimaced but kept his face clear of his internal thought. "Harry shrugged his shoulders; his mental musings put on hold as his uncle began to complain about having no breakfast and dished the food onto three plates, carrying them across to the table.

In the way of thanks he got a large list of chores shoved in his face and his uncle's finger pointed towards the garden. So much for gratitude. He snatched up a single slice of toast and walked out into the blazing sunshine. Everyone else was still inside their houses but that was fine by Harry. He preferred it when it was quiet; when it was quiet no-one glared at him because they thought he was the local juvenile delinquent or because his clothes were the hand-me-downs he got from his enormous cousin and not the fashionable clothes all the other teenagers wore.

Harry looked at the list of chores and groaned out loud. His aunt and uncle expected to get this finished _today?_ On the bottom of the list, scrawled in his uncles messy handwriting was a single sentence. It read "_if you don't do these before I get home, expect the thrashing of a lifetime_" Oh well, at least the chores would keep his mind off of Cedric Diggory and the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Two hours later, Harry was hot, annoyed, and filthy from the compost he had used to plant the new bedding plants. 'Ha!' he thought savagely. 'Professor Snape would be really surprised to see the famous Harry Potter slaving away in the heat of the sun.' Harry stood up and stretched, feeling the bones in his back pop back into place.

The rest of the day was filled up with chores, and keeping Dudley stocked up with food. Harry had done his best to do the all the chores but he knew he wasn't going to get them all done before his uncle got home. Knowing his aunt and uncle, this was probably their intention all along. Seven o'clock rolled around and Harry was nowhere near finished his chores. At half-past seven his uncle walked through the door and bellowed "BOY!"

Harry gathered all the courage Gryffindor's were famous for and stepped into the hall. "Yes uncle Vernon?" he said softly.

His uncle swelled like a bull frog gearing up for the confrontation that was inevitable. His eyes bulging dangerously and his face turned dangerously red, the vein in his forehead throbbing.

"Didn't I give you a list this morning, boy?"

"Yes, you did Uncle Vernon."

"Did you _read_ everything that was on the list, boy?"

"Yes, I did, Uncle Vernon."

"Did you _do _everything that was on the list, boy?"

Harry backed off when his uncle came closer, looking more menacing then ever.

"Well, yes. I did the car, the lawn, the garden – "Harry started, but Uncle Vernon cut him off.

"Did you do _everything?"_

Harry dropped his gaze.

"No."

His uncle seemed to swell faster than his sister had done several years ago.

"_What_ did you say?"

"I said "no", I didn't do everything. I was busy painting –" Uncle Vernon cut him off again. The looked positively purple.

"Maybe you want to tell me _why_ you disobeyed me?"

_That_ was it. Harry's face coloured because of his anger and the effort of keeping his temper.

"I didn't disobey you, it was – "

"Yes you did, boy! I told you to get it finished _before_ my return and you didn't. You disobeyed me!"

"It was impossible – "

"Nothing is impossible!"

"I worked really hard, and –"

"Do you think your aunt and I don't work hard? You've got some nerve, boy."

Uncle Vernon was now standing so close to Harry that Harry was actually leaning backwards.

"I didn't say that!" Harry fumed "I wouldn't ever say that-" Harry was cut off mid sentence by Vernon pushing his big meaty finger in the middle of his chest.

"You _dare_ to lie to me?" Vernon hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm not lying-" Harry frantically tried to back track but it was too late.

"How _dare _you! How _dare_ you lie to me_ twice_?" Vernon roared, spraying spittle all over Harry who tried not to flinch.

"You _lie _to_ me_ after all my family has done for you-"

Harry's temper snapped and he shouted at his uncle "you've never done anything for me! I've never been welcomed in this damn house!-"

"Petunia and I have given you _everything;_ you owe _everything_ to us after we took you in after your freak parents died!"

But Harry cut in, matching his purple-faced uncle in volume "I owe you nothing!" he yelled, stepping closer to Uncle Vernon. "You owe me for everything because it's me that keeps you safe, and it's me who's saved your lousy family every year for four fucking years!"

His uncle roared right back in Harry's face "you've always been a danger to my family and now you dare call yourself our _savior? _Well, who's going to save your pathetic skin now, boy? Because there's none of your _freak_ friends around now and you've got nowhere to run away to! I'm going to prove to you that I own you and there's nothing you can about it!"

Harry would have dismissed this angry tirade which left his uncle foaming at the mouth were it not for three things. One: Vernon had removed his belt. Two: he had a dangerously insane glint in his eyes which sent Harry involuntary stepping back. Three: Harry could smell the whiskey on Vernon his breath.

Harry instinctively knew the rules of the game had changed and he warily backed into the living room, his eyes focused on the belt clutched in Vernon's meaty fist.

What followed was not abuse but sheer torture for Harry. Harry had always thought he knew pain but this pain was sharper, harsher than any he had ever experienced before. Vernon grabbed him by the hair and threw Harry's limp body into the tiny cupboard under the stairs, growling "No-one ever got the better of Vernon Dursley, not one!" Harry heard him laughing drunkenly all the way up the stairs to join his wife who had sent Dudley off to bed early.

Harry curled up the thin mattress which had been his bed for eleven years before Hagrid had rescued him. He cradled one arm to his chest, cupping the elbow joint tenderly as he felt hot burning tears of pain and anger mingle with the blood on his face streaming from his nose and the many cuts his uncle's belt had made.

His emerald eyes, normally so empty of any emotion, glowed brightly as he remembered the dream. It felt like a thousand years ago since he had had the dream - not last night. He rubbed the bracelet on his arm, welcoming the feeling of love and warmth wash over him, making him drowsy despite the pain.

Harry dropped off to sleep, curled up on the tiny, baby mattress, one arm curled up against his chest. The dreams of Cedric and his fourth year claimed him, making him whimper and moan as he was forced to watch Voldemort rise again.

He never saw the slender, white clothed figure of the angel lean over him, nor did he hear the angel vow to save him, nor did he see the angel stand guard over him stopping the horrific images of his past from overwhelming him. He never saw the bowed head or the sorrowful expression flood the angels face as she healed him with a white glowing hand, taking away the pain but leaving the open wounds so his uncle wouldn't get suspicious and think that Harry was using his freak magic again.

The angel's voice said softly "my brother, I swear I will save you from this hell and I swear I will bring you the happiness you deserve!" a fierce, protective look appeared on the angel's face, changing it from holy to angry. Harry's dreams left him as the angel gave him new dreams, ones of love and warmth and of his parents.

The angel kept up her vigil all through the night until the dawn broke over the roofs of the houses on Privet Drive and the inhabitant of number four rose to begin their day and Harry woke up to face another day of more pain and humiliation at the hands of Vernon Dursley and his punishments.

* * *

_By the way, do you know any decent Latin translators on the internet because my Latin dictionary it ancient and is missing half its pages. I need it for the prophecy I'm doing for the 15/16th chapters and I'm screwed if all I have is the half an ancient Latin dictionary._

_Another thing do you know any of the below languages or translators:_

_French_

_Spanish_

_German_

_Italian_

_Greek_

_Latin_

_Cockney (London)_

_Irish Gaelic_

_Scottish Gaelic_

_Russian_

_Arabic_

_Runic languages_

_I need them for the last part of this story and the next part of the Power Chronicles._

_Thankyou _

_Queen Pheonix_


	4. Break my body but not my spirit

Disclaimer: The angel is my characters; the other characters are J.K Rowling's.

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAHIC CHILD ABUSE! IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ MY STORY, OKAY! ANY AND ALL FLAMES WILL BE USES TO LIGHT CANDLES SO I CAN DO MY ESSAYS.

Two weeks later.

Harry James Potter was nothing like he had beenjus ttwo short weeks before. Gaunt and thin because of sleepless nights and hardly any food, Harry's entire body was littered with cuts, bruises and belt lashes turning into weeping, bleeding sores. His small muscles, which he had gotten from hours of dedicated Quidditich practise, had wasted away and his messy blackhair lay limp and lifelessagainst his stark white skin.

His face had changed; no longer had he the the sweet, slightly cherubic face to replace it with a bitter mouth, empty, dull green eyes and it was defined by harsh lines from starvation and beatings, and where his face had no cuts it was covered with bruises.

Harry James Potter was nothing like healthy, if not happy teen, he had been just two weeks ago. In its place was an abused, frightened, lonely and abandoned young boy kept alive only by sheer will and grit determination and the unconditional love and care of his angel.

Vernon Dursley had lost all fear of the magical world and its inhabitants and gave Harry nightly beatings, claiming that he was beating the magic out of the boy just as he had claimed all those years before when Harry had first learnt of his parentage and his right to happiness and hope. The beatings were brutal and always left Harry screaming and sobbing on the floor, unable to move, shivering as the blood ran down his face and body. Vernon had used a number of items on Harry's body. Whips, belts, baseball bats, metal chains and broom handles, all had been put to the test on Harry's weak body, breaking both bones and skin. Vernon had used a hammer on Harry's left hand and arm, shattering the bones and causing intense and overwhelming pain.

Harry was never going to be able to use his left arm again without pain because the bones had broken the skin, small white nubs at the elbow and wrist joints. But worse than the beatings and the torture was the bitter taste of humiliation.

The day after the first beating, Vernon had brought home a dog collar, one designed for a huge Doberman or Rotwieler. He had lined it with barbed wire, grinning manically all the time that he had done it. Vernon had done the same with two thick bands of metal, eerily similar to those of the angel in Harry's first dream of her. Vernon had put them on a screaming, sobbing Harry who had fought him every step of the way. Vernon had marked Harry as a lesser being, a slave below human notice. Harry couldn't move his neck because of the extreme pain and his wrist were throbbing and aching and he couldn't feel his fingers and Harry was afraid he wouldn't be able to write again.

It terrified Harry because there was nothing he could do to ease the pain, and he knew what ever was happening, he was going to have to survive it but he was afraid. He was scared, no filled with sheer terror at the thought that he was not survive this abuse, he would never live to see hope again and the next time he would see his angel would be in death.

Harry was just sick of the world, of the people that called it home, why was it always him, him who paid the price for their stupidity, for their incompetence. He was in a swirling, pain filled black hole and he just couldn't see the way out anymore, and Harry was beginning to lose the will to carry on looking for it.

Harry had given up on happiness and instead focused on his anger and hatred to get him through the days of abuse. His uncle was hatred for the abuse and pain he had put Harry through. Harry hatred him with a white hot burning anger, not unlike the anger of his arch nemesis Lord Voldemort. That lead him to Dumbledore and he felt a similar rush of anger course through his veins. Why couldn't his precious detectors tell that Harry was dying, that he needed help desperately? Why didn't the leader of the light know that he was being abused, didn't it register in Dumbledore's brain as to why Harry begged every summer to be allowed to remain at Hogwarts, didn't Dumbledore wonder why he disliked close contact even from Harry's closest friends or didn't it cross Dumbledore's mind why Harry loathed being in jostling crowds because he felt the memories creep up on him once again.

Harry shifted in his mattress, hissing as pain roared up through his left leg and his ribs protested as he struggled to breathe deeply to quell the agony. He felt tears build up behind his eyes but he pushed them back behind the wall of hatred where all his love and happiness had died. He thought of Ron and Hermione, his two best friends and he hated them, hated them with a passion. They knew he was never treated well at the Dursley's so why didn't they take note of the fact his letters were short and almost identical every time. They insisted on sending him meaningless missives, filled with phrases like ",keep your chin up Harry", "we're missing you so much" and ",are you doing your homework?..." or even "I'm having so much fun with Ron………" (sent from Hermione) and "……don't keep blaming yourself……..Diggory deserved to die…….just because you saw the rebirth of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't mean you're allowed to sit at home….."(sent from Ron)

Harry was filled with hatred so deep, so primal it scared him when he read the letters. Only those from Sirius Black, his godfather, were remotely comforting even if they were devoid of any information or interesting comments outside ironic jokes and assurance that he was safe and still in hiding away from the Aurors. The reason only he got the letters and the only reason he was allowed to write was because Vernon was afraid that if Harry didn't write back, the freaks would call around his house and hurt him and his family.

The last two weeks had past in a haze of pain and beatings. With no food and hardly any food, Harry was treading a fine line towards death and there was nothing he could do about it. His only lifeline, his last connectionto the real world, to care and affectionwas the angel giving him the puresthope and unconditionalsupport and strengthing love that only a true angel could give so freely. She didn't judge him nor did she stop his tears, she gave the pure, comforting love of a real family and what Harry so desperately craved deep within his heart and soul. She never questioned him, never told him he was being stupid, all she did was heal himand hold him until he jouneyed into dreamland where for a few short hours the world was right again.

Harry had never contemplated taking his own life and for some unknown reason it never crossed he mind even in his darkest hours and Merlin knew he had plenty of those now. He had seen the films and even heard about the books but he never tried it.

Harry caught sight of his left hand and his stomach rolled dangerously. The bones were smashed and bent beyond recognition, the skin broken by the bone splinters and littered with cuts and bruises. Harry had a sneaking feeling that he looked like the living dead but he just couldn't bring himself to care right now.

His eyes closing of their own accord, Harry unwillinglydrifted into a restless sleep.

"No, stop, don't go there!" he muttered less than five minutes into the nightmarish sleep. "please, Dad help me please!"

The angelic figure shimmered into view beside Harry and held her hand over Harry's face and chanted in another language under her breath. Harry relaxed as his body took him into the deep sleep he so desperately craved but couldn't get. The angel sat down, propped up against the wall. The cupboard had expanded somehow to fit the two beings inside the tiny cupboard.

Harry smiled; even in his sleep he could sense the angel's comforting presence. He turned his face toward the angel, tears glistening on his lashes before they trickled down his cheeks. The angel wiped them away with the corner of her sleeve.

The angel spoke softly but fiercely "I swear I will get you out of your Hell my brother and I swear I will stop you from hurting anymore and I swear I will show you the truth so you can find true happiness."

The air flashed as the vow was spoken and Harry and the angel glowed as the vow bound them together.

* * *

Lady Destiny watched as the destiny of the three children was begun with the bonding of the oldest and the youngest. But there would be more pain and more healing to do before the three children would be ready to shoulder the burden of the fates of the worlds, but time was running out and the worlds were dying. Only time would tell whether the three children would find the courage and power to get through the past to save the future.

* * *

I would like to insert an apology in here to Ayla Sparrow.

I wrote her a very mean reply to her reveiw and I was very sarcastic and rude. If anyone can write to Ayla and tell her that I have apologised, I would be grateful because I can't contact her; the profile is playing up I think on my end of the line. Again, I am sorry for writing the reveiw and i shouldn't have taken out my fustration for my day out on you. So very sorry Ayla, truly I am. Please forgive me?

Queen Pheonix

Please reveiw.


	5. Behind the mask

Albus Dumbledore furiously paced his office, his face a bitter twisted mask of anger and bitterness. He would not be made a fool of but he was loosing control of his followers, he thought pacing the room. People were mistrusting him after the fiasco of the Triwizard Tournament, and he was unable to coax many back to his side. How dare they refuse him, he thought, he was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump and the man who stopped Grindlewald. Fudge was afraid to approach him now and the Minister's help was instrumental in his plans for the wizarding world.

Few people would have recognised the bitter man who paced the office now. The kindly twinkling eyes had been replaced by ice blue chips of ice, the gentle voice had been changed to a harsh snarl. To the normal populace he had ceased to be the Albus Dumbledore they knew.

He was beyond the stage of insanity where the ability to logically connect events and things still existed, he had progressed far farther than that; he was coldly insane, unable to see beyond his paranoia. Muggles may have diagnosed it as a combination of paranoid schizophrenia, superiority complex, domination issues and mental fragmentation. In Albus Dumbledore's mind, he was the greatest wizard in the world and he was incapable of fault or failure.

How anyone dare question him, he thought throwing himself into his chair and staring moodily at his desk. Fawkes, his precious phoenix, hooted scornfully at him raising his head in a gesture of defiance. Albus raised his wand, renewing the binding spell keeping Fawkes bound to his side.

"And don't think I'll be letting you go anytime soon either" he said, "I own you, your mine and I intend to keep it that way!" he finished with a derisive smirk.

Fawkes glared balefully at Albus, his whole demeanour practically screaming Piss off!

Quick as a flash; Albus positioned his wand right between the phoenix's eyes, "Now, listen up birdie because I'm in control here," he hissed "I am going to blast all those pretty little feathers off your body and string you up like the pathetic chicken that you are if you don't start to behave"

Fawkes eyed the delusional man and gave a grudging note of assent.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded coming up the stairs and Albus replaced both the wand and the mask of sweet temper and twinkling eyes, as he sat down at his desk. No sooner had he done so then a knock sounded at the door and it was softly pushed open. "Ahh come in Severus, I've been waiting for you." Albus said as Severus entered.

The second the door was shut the Dumbledore's mask fell and his true appearance came to light.

"Where were you?" he demanded, "I called for you at your house and you weren't there!"

"I'm not your slave at your beck and call!" Severus shouted back.

"On the contrary, you are very much my slave and you are most definitely at my beck and call! When I call for you I expect you to come running, am I understood?" Albus hissed arrogantly. "I believe a little discipline is in order, don't you, my boy?" Albus spat the word, making endearment become an insult.

"Wha-?" Severus barley had time to react before he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. Severus tried desperately to hold in his screams but eventually he had to let them escape.

For nearly three minutes he writhed on the floor, shaking and screaming, his limbs twitching and spasming. It may have only been three minutes but it felt like a left time to Severus. Albus kicked him in the ribs as he tried to get to his feet.

The raven-haired man normally composed and sneering was shivering and shaking in the aftermath of the curse, the dark magic still coursing through his veins, into his muscles.

"Drop your glamours" Severus obediently dropped the many charms hiding his true appearance. In the place of the greasy-haired hooked nose, thirty-eight year old man, there stood a tall, rather handsome twenty something year old man, with normal hair and a normal nose.

"Aww, are those tears I see?" Dumbledore spoke in a mocking, babyish voice before reverting to his cruel and bitter voice,

"You will respect me because you know will happen if you don't, don't you? I'll have you send right back to Azkaban like the filthy criminal you are! Am I clear?"

"Yes" Snape spat out.

"Yes what?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Yes Master" Snape spat out, his face perfectly emotionless.

Dumbledore gestured for him to leave. Severus did so slamming the door behind himself. Dumbledore stared at the door, deep in contemplation. Snape had better learn his place or he could soon be replaced, Albus mused to himself.

He sat down at his desk and placed his hands on the desk. Yes, he thought, life was about to get better, particularly as the third child was soon coming to England. And then, Albus knew, he would have them all under his control.

Snape

In the dungeons, a man sat a desk in a freezing room and poured himself a glass of Fire-whisky. Four walls and a floor and a ceiling and not much else.

The room contained nothing but a desk and chair and a bed. It was no room but a prison cell and one in the most unlikely of places.

It was, he mused, a bitter irony that he, the one everyone said would succeed; failed at the first task he was given. And all because of the one man no one suspected.

Severus Snape raised his glass to the savoir who was coming to save the rest of wizarding world. Nevertheless, he mused; it would be too late for him.


	6. On The Way Home

**On The Way Home **

At last, it was the day before Harry went back to Hogwarts. He was internally celebrating this joyous occasion. One more day of hellish chores and agonizing, humiliating beatings and he would be back where he belonged. At least until next summer.

Harry contemplated the family he lived with, merely because there was little else to do. Come to think of it, Harry hadn't seen Aunt Petunia throw him one nasty look or the frying pan his way since the night when it all began. Dudley seemed to have scarped off, almost to the point where he only returned home one night out of seven. Harry wondered about all this . Could it be that they were beginning to see what Vernon had become or was it because they thought that if they couldn't see it, it wasn't happening?

Uncle Vernon's fat hand wrenched opened the door, disturbing Harry's musings, almost tearing it off its hinges and reached into the cupboard to grab his nephew by his hair, pulling him out of the cupboard.

He dragged Harry into the living room and, thankfully releasing his painful grip on Harry's hair, dropped him on the floor.

"Listen up Boy, and listen good!" the large man thundered from above Harry's prone position on the floor. "The only reason I'm letting you go back to that freak school of yours is because I don't want your filthy freak friends coming round to my house! You're not going to tell anyone about this," here, Vernon waved his hands in the general direction of Harry's bruised and broken body, "because if you do, I'll hurt you so bad, you'll never tell anyone else anything ever again!"

A few months ago, Harry would have dismissed the threat with ease but now that Vernon had proved that he was ready to beat the hell out of Harry, Harry didn't dare to shrug the words away as easily. Would it really be so difficult for Vernon to take it up to the next level: murder? In Harry's honest opinion: No.

Harry remembered with a cold shiver the first time Vernon had brought a knife to Harry's throat, caressing the skin with the cold blade of the fourteen inch kitchen knife. Harry had never been scared by the red glowing eyes of Voldemort, who was considered to be the most evil thing to walk the planet, at least to the point where he was ready to scream in fear but somehow those grey piggy eyes made him freeze with terror. Vernon had played with Harry for hours, drunk out of his mind, waving the knife and jabbing at various parts of Harry's body. Never before had Harry felt so exhausted by fear, having to watch Vernon's every move judging where the drunken man would stab next.

Harry tuned his uncle back in as Vernon moved onto a new subject. " - And if you want to go back to that freak school of yours you'll go to your cupboard right now and you'll not make a single sound. If I hear a single sound..." Uncle Vernon drew his finger across his throat, making it very clear what would happen to Harry if he didn't obey.

Vernon kicked him back into the cupboard with his heavy work boot, where Harry sat in the darkness contemplating what he would do once he returned to Hogwarts. Maybe he'd find Ron and Hermione in a compartment on the train. His thoughts then turned to a more urgent matter.

Since he had been unable to go to Diagon Alley, he hadn't any school supplies except what he had from last year. How was he going to cope at school? He would either have to beg off his friends until he could owl Flourish and Blotts or - here he swallowed hard - he would have to talk to his teachers, a feat which would make him have to give up the last shreds of pride and dignity he possessed. In Harry's mind the second option was no option and the only way he would throw himself on his teachers' mercy would be if the fate of the world depended on it and even then it would be hard. After losing everything to Vernon, Harry was in no mood to bare himself and his family problems to someone like Snape who would only turn it against him. Harry curled up on the mattress and fell into a sleep plagued with phantoms and visions.

The same angel that had visited him for many nights before faded into view again, and took up her customary position beside Harry's pitiful bed and her hand hovered over Harry's scar in a familiar and practiced move, glowing a soft gentle white. Harry sensed the angel even in the depths of his nightmares and turned his face toward the comforting presence. The angel's other had drifted over Harry's right leg, healing the broken bone and the torn muscle in his thigh. Harry's face eased a little; softening it from the harsh lines and taut skin he showed the world.

Then, the angel spoke softly, uttering the words without an accent; "My brother, I would raise you from this nightmare and all others but my hands be tied through the machinations of one who is supposed to protect and guide you and everyone. I desire so much for you, yet I too must give this up. But not forever, Harry -" the angel's voice shook and she spoke with more passion "- not forever my brother! I shall give you all you desire, friends, family, a home!" Harry shifted in his sleep, hearing the words and storing them away in some small corner of his mind, to be remembered when the time was right. The angel's hand moved over to Harry's scar where it glowed brightly and soothed the troubled boy back to blissful, uninterrupted sleep. She kissed Harry's head and sat back to watch over him.

Next morning Harry woke feeling strangely elated and he found that the pain in his leg was greatly reduced. A dark shadow flitted across his face as he remembered Uncle Vernon's heavy foot come down on his thigh, the bone snapping like a brittle twig. He recalled the pain which was all his world consisted of at the time and he could remember the look of sadistic pleasure darting across Vernon's fat, pig-like face before Harry fainted. Shaking himself, Harry focused on the happiness he felt in his heart at still being alive and going back to Hogwarts.

"BOY!" Vernon roared from the kitchen waking Harry from his pleasant daydream. He scrambled from his small cupboard and into the kitchen.

"Yes sir!" Harry said tonelessly. (Sir was Vernon's new name that Harry had to call him by. The lesson was …enforced … with a severe and painful beating the first time Harry forgot it. Needless to say, he wouldn't forget it in a hurry.) Vernon turned his heavy body around and bent forward, towards his nephew. Harry involuntary took a step backwards. "Your aunt has cooked breakfast this morning and you and I are leaving in fifteen minutes. Get your trunk from Dudley's second bedroom NOW!" Vernon said while shoving forkfuls of bacon and eggs between his fat lips. Harry could see the grease dribbling across his chin.

Harry left the kitchen and went upstairs to retrieve his trunk from his old room. There he found a problem; how was he supposed to lift it down the stairs with a broken arm and his entire left hand out of action due to his broken fingers? He couldn't kick it owing to the fact that he barely had enough energy to move his own body never mind his trunk as well. Harry felt his stomach clench. His uncle would give him such a beating if he didn't return with his trunk soon. No, that was _just_ what he needed; to be pummeled an inch from his life; giving Malfoy a reason to humiliate him from the first second.

As if somebody had heard his silent prayers, Harry suddenly felt the trunk become weightless and he looked around in alarm. Did I just do that out of desperation, or…? He thought slightly amazed. Then, in the far corner, barely visible to the naked eye, he saw her, his angel. She gave a two fingered salute and faded out of view . Confused, Harry picked up the trunk with his right hand and found to his joy that the trunk was well and truly weightless. He whispered a quiet "thank you" to the empty room and could have sworn he got a "you're welcome" in return.

Almost smiling, Harry carried the weightless trunk downstairs where Vernon had evidently finished his breakfast and was sitting reading his paper commenting loudly on the story of the day; the English pound was down by 3.1 on the stock market.

On the entire drive to the station, Vernon didn't utter a word. Of course, that didn't bother Harry, he preferred it that way. Yet Harry did shift uncomfortably; the hard leather of the seat was pressing into his back where the belt- lashes and burn-marks - which Vernon had so generously bestowed upon Harry's weak body the night before – were still throbbing and painful.

At the station, Harry crawled out of the car, took his trunk out of the boot and stood on the curb as Vernon's car took off in a cloud of dust and joined the never-ending steam of traffic through London. Harry turned to look at the clock and registered that it was just after nine o'clock.

Great. _Two hours _early. What was he going to do with all this time? Loading his weightless trunk onto a handy trolley, Harry walked slowly toward the barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

Harry opened his eyes and curiously looked around. In his four years of going to Hogwarts Harry had never seen Platform 9 ¾ so deserted. Evidently none of his schoolmates had arrived just yet. Well, why would they? It was just a little over nine. They were probably still enjoying breakfast. Thinking this, Harry walked towards the train. He opened the trunk and pulled out the bird cage so it would look like he was waiting for Hedwig to return so if anyone wondered why he was standing on the platform until his friends arrived. However, he almost dropped it when a loud and familiar screech reached him. "Hedwig!" he cried, as the bright white snowy owl glided into view, in all her swooping glory. Hedwig gave him a worried look as she landed on the handle of the trolley. Judging from her amber gaze, Harry looked worse than he had assumed.

"I know girl, I know" he said as he stroked he head "It's been hell but I'm going home now. Alright, my girl?"

Hedwig's reproachful glare told Harry she wasn't satisfied, but she nibbled his finger gently, anyway. Harry shook himself, how in Merlin's name did he know what Hedwig was feeling?. Harry shivered uneasily and stored the question, making a mental note to ask Hagrid later. Harry guided the trunk onto the train and settled down in a compartment for some much needed rest. All too soon, Harry's nap was over as he was awoken by the sounds of other students boarding the train. Harry sighed and looked out of the window with Hedwig.

Hogwarts was coming.

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Hi guys sorry I haven't updated in a while but here's the next chapter. Chapter seven should be up soon and then we meet the third child in the prophecy!!

Please review but please no flames.


	7. Problems, Solutions and Mysteries

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**Problems, Solutions and Mysteries **

Harry drew the compartment blinds and closed the curtain over the glass panel in the door. He wasn't going to let anyone see how badly his uncle had beaten him, not yet anyway. Hedwig hooted quietly from her perch on the back of Harry's seat.

"I love you too" he replied and surprised himself by meaning it. Turning his thought to more serious matters, Harry contemplated how he was going to hide the blatantly obvious cuts, bruises and other wounds from his peers at Hogwarts. Vaguely recalling a long ago Charms lesson, he remembered Professor Flitwick telling the class about concealment charms. Harry bent over his trunk and began the long and painful task of finding his fourth year Charms textbook, eventually locating it beneath his old school cloak and his potions cauldron.

Harry leafed through the book recalling each lesson that the book covered, finding what he was looking for at the back of the book. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose as he tried to decipher the text and realised he was squinting rather badly. His glasses hadn't been replaced since his tenth birthday and they were increasingly hard to see through not to mention incredible tight. But he only had another three years to go before he could go to an ocular healer and have his eyes repaired properly. Returning his attention to the book in his hands, Harry moved the book closer to his face and read:

"_A glamour charm is very difficult to cast because it requires the caster to mentally give the spell boundaries in which the spell may function. The spell, therefore, must be clearly mentally defined within the mind of the caster (see page 123 for Defining). The caster must wave his/her wand over in a circular motion maintaining the spell in his/her mind and chants Occulto vestigium (Latin: cover the mark)._

_The spell will cover the defined area of the body or object replacing it with the mentally conjured image. An unpleasant cut, for example, may be covered with perfect looking skin but the cut itself will not be healed, and may therefore still be felt _

_This spell is very dangerous to attempt without a qualified member of the Ministry or another reputed spell establishment present and ready. All cases of misused and incorrectly applied glamour spells will be thoroughly investigated and may lead to court action and possibly time in Azkaban Prison. This is because glamour charms can be used to mimic others in acts of violence or law breaking and have been known to have been used by the followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The charm itself however is well known and has been used for seven centuries after its predecessor the Vanishing Hex was found to be too unpredictable." _

Harry stopped reading and stared meditatively at the wall of the compartment where Hedwig sat on the seat back, head under wing dozing. Although Harry could use the Episkey charm, he had a sneaking suspicion to do the spell on all his cuts and half-healed wounds would be hard to explain if the spell failed or if her ended up hurting himself more than before. Besides, he couldn't reach half of the wounds and Hedwig, for all her help, couldn't cast the spell for him. Using the glamour charm had its downsides, but Harry needed something to cover the bruises and cuts and other wounds and the only other option was a potion. Unfortunately, the potion would take several months to brew and perfect before being anywhere near fit for Harry to drink. It took time that Harry just didn't have. And there was no way he was going to display his injuries to the student body. Therefore his only option was to cast the spell and he'd just have to hope nothing went wrong. He studied the passage again and then turned to the 'Defining' page in the book and felt his joy fade a little before gritting his teeth and beginning the spell.

Harry stood up and held his wand in his right hand before him as the book said. Waving it in a circular motion he cleared his mind. He imagined the spell covering all his wound and bruises but leaving the scar from Voldemort alone. He imagined the spell coming out of the end of his wand and suddenly he felt the spell settle over his body, like the beginning of being out in the snow.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at his left hand in amazement. It looked normal and unbroken. Harry flexed his fingers and almost fainted from the pain. It was sheer, pure agony to move his fingers. Harry sat down on the seat and felt himself fall against the back of the seat and he could do nothing about it.

Harry awoke from his impromptu nap dazed and in pain. Hedwig stared down at him, a worried look in her deep amber eyes as Harry struggled to sit up. Harry's ribs screamed at him and his arms were in mortal agony joining his back and legs in a chorus of pain. He hissed and tried to hold back the tears of pain that had appeared in his eyes. Harry looked across at Hedwig who looked at him sympathetically "don't worry girl, it just a bit sore" he half whispered, half croaked.

She hooted disbelievingly but landed on the seat next to him and nipped his good hand affectionately giving Harry a rush of overwhelming gratitude for his beautiful bird and his first ever friend.

Hedwig's POV

Harry went back to sleep as Hedwig watched over him like she had done for many years now. Hedwig was by no means a stupid owl, quite the contrary. She was remarkable clever. She worried about her Harry. He was such a lonely boy with so much pain in his life. He had chosen to bond with her on a subconscious level even if he didn't know it yet. Hedwig did what she could to make his life just that little bit easier and fill it with that little bit of love, care and affection that only a true familiar could give.

He would always feed her before himself and he would talk to her and treat her like a real person and not just an owl to carry letters. Hedwig loved him and always thought of him as a nestling of her own. Worrying after him, scolding him for his misdeeds but always loving him unconditionally. The angel had spoken with her when Harry had turned her loose at Hogwarts asking her to continue to monitor Harry's state through their bond whenever the angel couldn't be near him. Hedwig never broke her promises.

Hedwig let Harry sleep until there was only half-an-hour before the train reached the station. She woke him up by hooting softly in his ear and nipping his finger gently.

End of Hedwig's POV

"Hey girl, we almost there?" Harry asked quietly. Hedwig hooted and perched herself on the back of the seat and seemed to observe Harry as he went through his trunk.

This was getting ridiculous, Harry thought, why was he getting all these thoughts and emotions from an owl. Harry added yet another question to ask Hagrid when He arrived at Hogwarts. The way things were going he would be asking a small exam with the questions he now had about familiars and bonds. Bringing himself back to the problem at hand, Harry concentrated on finding his robes. Harry's ribs really hurt now and they were making it incredibly difficult to bend over. He snatched up his robes in his good hand and slumped back in his seat, barley holding onto consciousness. He pushed back the black threatening to overcome his already blurry mind and concentrated on the matter of getting of dressing himself one-handed. Normally it would have taken him thirty seconds but now, with his broken ribs, not to mention his inability to raise either arm above his head, it took him the best part of twenty minutes to just his outer robes on. He point blank refused to even attempt his school trousers or shirt because he didn't think he would take the pain. He hadn't undone his school tie and he had never been more thankful as Hedwig helped to guide it over his head.

Grinning at her in thanks Harry sat down to rest. Just getting dressed, Harry knew, had cost him precious reserves of strength and he hadn't had that much to begin with. He vaguely wondered where Ron and Hermione were, come to think of it, Harry hadn't seen hide nor hair of them since he boarded the train. Granted they could just have missed him, but every other year they had come looking for him. Harry wondered whether they were even the train but he was sure they would have written to him to inform him of the fact but there seemed to be no other explanations but dismissed the thought as the train drew to a halt at Hogsmeade Station.

Harry waited until most of the students had boarded the carriages to the castle before exiting the train. His heart sank as he thought of the possibility of not finding a carriage to himself but he soon cheered up upon hearing the half-giant, and beloved friend, Hagrid bellow "O'er 'ere firs' years o'er 'ere" - waving his massive hands at the first years. Harry climbed into a carriage, which he found empty, to his surprise. He relaxed in his seat while Hedwig followed him into the carriage, perching on the seat opposite him.

"You don't have to follow me girl." He said smiling.

Hedwig looked at him derisively and hooted loudly. How the hell was he getting all these thoughts? Harry resolutely put it out of his mind. One problem at a time, he told himself firmly. How under earth did he know what Hedwig was thinking? Harry thought to himself. He was glad she was going to stay so he wouldn't have to face the crowds of Hogwarts alone.

Harry settled down for the long ride back to the castle, slumped in his seat as the pain coursed through him. He prayed that it would cease soon because he didn't think he would make through the feast.

Harry's body was running dangerously low on energy and his magic was centred on maintaining the glamour charm which covered him from head to foot.

Though Harry didn't know it, he was dying due to internal damage. His organs were failing; many of them were punctured by his broken ribs or were too severely damaged by his uncle's fists and boots. Harry was running short on time and magic but he was blissfully unaware of this as he struggled against the blackness which tried to embrace him at every bump and turn of the carriage.

Once at the castle, Harry climbed out of the carriage and watched his as Hedwig flew off to the Owlery. Harry missed her warm weight and her companionship even as he climbed the steps. Even though she couldn't speak, at least he would have had someone to talk to as he couldn't find the other two of the Golden Trio. He walked into the Entrance Hall, glad he arrived later than the other students. Amazingly, no one seemed to recognise him as he walked through the throng of the other students. It must be the fact he wasn't with Ron and Hermione. After all they were very distinctive, what with Ron's red hair and incredible height and Hermione's bushy hair and the fact that everyone in the vicinity got treated to an expert quotation of Hogwarts: A History. Frankly he was glad no-one had noticed him because of the fact he didn't think that people would leave him alone with his thoughts. He sidled into the Great Hall and perched at the end of the Gryffindor table. He endured the beginning of the year notices and the announcement of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

The sorting was about to begin when the doors to the Great crashed open, revealing a dark figure standing there, silhouetted against the lightning forked sky…

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**This is a replacement chapter, it has been betaed and added to so please if you think I still need to add something please feel free to leave it in the review, I like getting the reviews but I would really like some more. **

**Thank you for reading and please review. **


	8. Of Traditions Both Old and New

I'm back. Tentatively. I will progressing slowly with this. But I will try for one chapter per month until I finish my other story.

Now on to some thank yous:

To everyone who reviewed thank you so much. I read the reveiws and got my butt in gear. So this your reward for reveiwing.

To my beta Maaike, I haven't mentioned you in prevoius chapters and I am SO sorry. Because of this I dedicate this chapter to you.

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**Chapter 10 : Of Traditions, Old and New**

It was Hagrid, late as usual. Harry gave a sigh of relief. The memory of Crouch's entrance last year was still all too fresh in his mind.

The rest of the meal continued in the usual Hogwarts fashion; good food, lots of talking and catching up with people, with Ron and Hermione bickering loudly. Harry felt a pang of sadness that they hadn't bothered to come looking for him. Somehow, the anger he had felt at Privet Drive towards them had faded, leaving nothing but a sense of deep sadness.

He ate very little, just pushed the food around his plate with a fork and his good hand. Letting his gaze drift around the tables, he caught sight of Malfoy sitting in his usual position; between Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy was pushing his food around his plate much like Harry was doing. He looked much like Harry felt; bored, tired and unhappy. Crabbe and Goyle however seemed oblivious as they shoved food down their necks as fast as they could.

Harry looked up at the teachers table. The new fat teacher, Umbridge, was glaring at McGonagall who, in her turn, was studiously ignoring her. Professors Sprout and Flitwick were immersed in an in-depth conversation and Hagrid was immersed like Crabbe and Goyle; in eating. Dumbledore was twinkling in the midst of it all. Snape, in all his greasy hair and black-robed glory, was unusually restless. He shifted in his seat and he didn't give the Gryffindor table the usual piecing glare he typically did. Harry wondered whether the unusual behavior had anything to do with Voldemort. He threw down his fork; the thought of Voldemort had driven out any last remnants of his appetite he had left.

At the end of the feast, Dumbledore stood up clapped his hands; the tables magically cleared themselves, leaving the plates and goblets sparkling clean.

At last, after making Harry and numerous Slytherins suffer through the school song, Dumbledore bade the whole school good night and Harry could finally leave for the safety of his dorm, where he would be with people he trusted and could finally drop both his guard and his glamour-charm, both of which were incredibly tiring. He heard the new Gryffindor prefects, Parvati and a boy unknown to Harry guide the first years through the corridors and up the stairs. He caught the tail end of their conversation as they started up the main staircase, as Parvati told her male counterpart the password quietly, so the other houses couldn't hear. Harry, walking right behind them heard the quietly whispered password of "Peace and Goodwill".

Darting through a tapestry depicting Gwendolyn the Green and her gardens, Harry followed the familiar routes of little-known passages which only he, Hermione, Ron and Filch knew. The passages and secret corridors would enable him to avoid the crush of people which would knock into him and probably cause him to faint and be delivered to Madame Promfrey who would promptly discover his secret abuse. He also wanted to avoid them because he knew that once they got into a conversation with him he would be trapped down in the common room until early the next morning.

He passed several portraits that waved to him and greeted him. A small girl in one followed him through several until Harry greeted her in French. She giggled and waved to him as he disappeared around the corner, her laughter following him. Another one made him quote Shakespeare until the man in the portrait was satisfied, though it was a long-standing tradition between him and Harry, going back since his first year when he had stumbled across the grey bearded man quite by accident on one of his midnight rambles.

At the portrait, he gave the password he had heard Parvati say, and he soon was climbing the familiar stone staircase to his dorm. Unsurprisingly, when he opened the door it was empty of his dorm mates. He found his trunk and opened it one-handedly. He pulled put last years pajamas and stripped off his school robes slowly. He closed his eyes and eased his shirt over his head, hoping that his ribs wouldn't protest too much. Thankfully, they didn't and soon enough he was in his pajamas. They were still too long he mused as he placed his glasses on his bedside table and climbed into bed.

He lay back on the sheets, after pulling the curtains around his bed and he mused. Why had nobody recognized him? After all, he still looked the same as he had last year. Had his glamour-charm stopped working without his notice or changed him beyond his normal appearance? No, he would have known if they had dropped and Hedwig would have known if he had overdone them in some way. And why hadn't Hermione and Ron come looking for him? Weren't they were meant to be his best mates!

The sound of laughter spared Harry from further musings as the other boys came up the stairs to the dorm. Seamus was talking to Dean, his broad Irish tones blending well with Dean's London accent. Neville and Ron's country tones added to the mix.

Harry drifted off to sleep and the voices washed over him as familiar and comforting as his blankets or a much-loved jumper.

Harry's sleep was deep and dreamless. Just an ocean of black, liquid velvet where no dream, bad or good could affect him. His scar was silent for the first time since Voldemort had arisen in the graveyard and his wounds did not hinder his deep sleep.

A figure stood beside his bed, unseen by the other boys. "Soon" it uttered to itself "Soon". A flash of light and the figure was gone, the boys in the dorm none the wiser. They all slept on, unaware of the drama unfolding just eighteen miles from the castle which would soon affect them all.

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Please reveiw and I'll post another chapter! 


	9. On Messages, Memories and Musings

_Hey, _

_Wow, it feels weird to be updating this, it's been so long. Well, to all those who dared to review this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know now that the series has ended, this category will proably drop off the end of the earth, but my story SHALL be finished before that. I hope. _

_Thanks again for reviewing, and this chapter is dedicated to all those who did. _

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**On Messages, Memories and Musings. **

**Harry started awake, his hand rising to his scar. It no longer pulsed gently with pain, instead it thrummed with warmth and a feeling of protection. He lowered his hand as the feeling faded and started once again. His hand, far from being the mangled mess it had once been, broken bones and all; was now a whole, unbroken hand. He examined it closely but it was his own complete with the freckle beside his thumb and the bitten fingernails. He flexed it and smiled at the absence of the pain which had lingered for weeks. **

**He glanced at the clock and sighed quietly. It was only ten to six and no one would be up for hours. Harry quietly sneaked out of bed grabbed a clean set of robes from his trunk and his shower kit. He slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. The silencing spells kicked in and he dropped his stuff with a sigh. At least for the next twenty minutes he would be able to have a shower he had not had since the beginning of the summer. **

**Twenty minutes, Harry had returned his stuff to his trunk and was treading softly down the stairs as he tried not to wake his housemates. He arrived in the common room without incident and he seated himself beside the window. He watched the sun roll over the mountains like a fireball, lighting the room and banishing the shadows. **

**Harry leant back and contemplated again. The angel had evidently come to him in the night; his hand was proof of that as were the missing collar and cuffs. He ran one hand over his throat feeling the smooth skin and remembering the cold steel. He shook himself, determined not think about that yet. He turned his thoughts to a more serious matter; where would his school books come from? Ron and Hermione already had theirs and he wouldn't be able to keep borrowing them. Snape would have his head if he found Harry hadn't got the textbooks, Harry thought grimly. Then he remembered something that had happened in his third year. Hermione had spilt ink all over her Ancient Runes textbook and had gone to the library to borrow some catalogue there from which she had ordered a new one. He hadn't thought much of it at the time but now it seemed an increasingly good idea. After all, he still had a load of money in his trunk that he had never spent, due to his not going to Diagon Alley during the summer. And, he thought, the library was bound to have some, if not all the textbooks in. Plenty of people would have no doubt left or donated copies like they did for the rest of books. Perhaps he could borrow some of them. **

**His mind made up, Harry quietly climbed the stairs back to his dorm room. He grabbed his money bag and shut the door quietly behind him. With any luck he should have been to the library and back before anyone woke up, so they wouldn't ask him any questions. Stepping off the bottom step, Harry crossed the common room and pushed lightly at the portrait door. It swung open without a sound, telling him that the Fat Lady was either absent or still sleeping. He shut the portrait behind him and made his way down to the library on the fourth floor. Using the secret passages and corridors, he made down there without incident, though he narrowly missed both Peeves and the Bloody Baron. Standing outside the archway to the library, he looked both ways to ensure no one was watching and he entered the room. **

**Forty minutes later, Harry was getting desperate. Nearly an hour had been spent wandering the shelves and he was no closer to finding either the catalogue or the textbooks and he was becoming worried. Suddenly he heard a shuffling noise and a loud sneeze. "Excuse me?" He called out. Mentally he smacked himself upside the head. He had just announced his presence to all and everyone, teacher or student. What if it was Professor Snape? Harry cringed; he would be in so much trouble and on his first day of the new year no less. **

**"Hello?" A dry and crackly voice sounded as someone called out, "Is someone there?" **

**"Yes." Harry saw no point in lying since he had revealed himself. **

**Suddenly, more shuffling and a head appeared around the side of a book shelf. It was Madam Pince, her spectacles sliding down her nose. "Are you looking for something?" She asked, briskly. **

**"Yes..." Harry hesitated to ask for help but decided his need to find the books was greater than the need to preserve his pride, "Is there any copies of the textbooks-" **

**Madame Prince was already moving off in the opposite direction, her shoes making the odd shuffling noise he had heard. "Not many people ask for those." She commented as she arrived at the very back of the library. The whole of the back was lined with large wooden crates, labelled with the contents they had previously held. At least Harry hoped it was the previous contents, as he saw several crates labelled Scorpions, Arabian. Madame Prince delved inside one and produced a list of some description. "Have you any idea of what you want?" She asked, "What year are you?" **

**"Fifth and I need Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, Divination, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, and Defence Against the Dark Arts please." **

**To her credit Madame Prince didn't bat an eyelid at the long list of text books, instead delving into the crates with alarming accuracy. Before long Harry had every book he needed and an expectant Madame Prince staring at him, through her now slightly crooked spectacles. "My friend mentioned something about a catalogue that allowed you to order books?" Harry asked. **

**Madame Prince produced the requested catalogue from the same crate she had the list. "Tap your wand on the book you want and it'll be pre-ordered from the store in Hogsmeade. You can go and collect it or pay by owl." She left, leaving Harry clutching a catalogue, surrounded by textbooks. Sighing once again, he sat down on a nearby bench and began to look through the catalogue. He leafed through the catalogue and selected the books he wanted, wincing at the prices. **

**He was about to shut the catalogue when he spotted a picture that caught his eye. One huge thick book, emblazoned with the simple title; The Spirit One. The small caption underneath simply stated that the book was made in eighteen thirty five and cost twenty five galleons. Harry leant down and counted his money. If he was careful not to spend anything until the next Hogsmeade trip which he shouldn't need to do anyway, he had just enough. He tapped the book with his wand and held his breath. Instead of the notice of refusal he had expected, the catalogue simply informed him that the book was now reserved. **

**He arranged for the owl to arrive between the hours of five and six tomorrow morning where he would leave the money in the pouch on the owl's leg. Dumping the catalogue back in the crate, he stared unhappily at the books surrounding him. He glanced at his watch and raised an eyebrow; it was half past seven already and he had best make a move in returning the books to his dorm room. He would collect which ever books he needed when he knew what his schedule was. He piled the books one on top of another and picked up the stack. It wasn't too heavy, he thought though going round corners was going to be a little difficult and stairs as well. **

**He finally made it to the Gryffindor portrait at eight minutes to eight. He spoke the password, stepped through the common room door and came face to face with Nearly Headless Nick the resident Gryffindor ghost. The feeling of ice pervaded his chest and he gasped. Walking into a ghost was never a pleasant experience, doubly so when you weren't expecting it. He nearly dropped the books and only just managed to steady them. Nearly Headless Nick floated backwards, his head wobbling precariously. "So sorry, Harry!" The ghost tried to cover up the embarrassment, "How were your, umm, holidays?" **

**Harry mentally sniggered at the ghost's rather horrible attempt to cover up his fright, but replied, "They were good, Sir Nicholas," He knew that the ghost rather liked being called by his former title and there was no way he would be telling anyone about the summer he had any time soon. **

**"Good, good. I, err, had best be off then young Harry," And with that the ghosted strode off rather impatiently, straight through a portrait. Harry staggered up stairs to his dorm and opened the door. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw none of the other boys were up and about though they soon would be. He dumped the books on his bed and dusted his front off. He left the room and as he did so he heard the first of the alarms go off. By his calculations, he would see Ron and the other boys accompanied by Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindor girls in about half an hour to forty five minutes. **

**Harry jogged downstairs and across the common room. He pushed open the portrait and turned right to head downstairs into the Great Hall. For the first time in nearly eight weeks, Harry was starving hungry. His secret corridors and numerous shortcuts once again paid off because he arrived at the Great Hall just ten minutes after he exited the common room. **

**Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table, relishing the silence. He loved Gryffindor house but sometimes it would be nice to have some peace to himself. He reached out and picked up a slice of toast and a pot of jam and settled down to watch the people drift in and out of the Great Hall. The teacher's table was almost empty; only the Arithmancy professor and the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who, if Harry remember correctly was named Umbridge. He looked at her and winced. Her bright pink cardigan and black bow perched in iron grey hair, lay atop a rather fat body, with close-set eyes and a ridiculously wide mouth. Harry thought she rather resembled at a toad though he was going to withhold judgment on her teaching techniques. After all, Professor Lupin had a rather tatty appearance and had turned out to be one of the best teachers Harry had ever had. **

**There were only five or six other students in the Hall; two Hufflepuffs who looked rather bleary-eyed, three Ravenclaws discussing something in a large tome before them and a single Slytherin. Harry idly noted it was Malfoy, his bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, conspicuously absent. Well if Malfoy wasn't going to bother him then Harry wasn't going to bother Malfoy. Harry picked up another slice of toast and watched as McGonagall and Snape entered. Instead of heading towards the Head Table, McGonagall veered off to the Gryffindor table and Snape did the same to the Slytherin table. The tall professor arrived in front of Harry and he politely swallowed and said, "Good morning Professor." **

**"Good morning Potter," She replied, her face severe, her tone warm, "Here's your timetable and I have an important letter for you. And Potter," She stared intently at him "I advise you to keep the contents of that letter secret.You'd best open this when you are sure you are alone." She presented him with the familiar parchment timetable and a large, white envelope, edged with silver. He took both and heard McGonagall bid him good day. He murmured something in reply, his mind already on the letter. He looked up to see Malfoy receiving what looked to be an identical envelope by a scowling Snape. He turned and looked at the other students. None of them had received such an envelope. He wondered why McGonagall had been the one delivering it and with such a cryptic warning. He was opening the letter when he heard the sounds of shouting and talking that heralded the entrance of the Gryffindor students. Harry sighed and shoved the letter in his pocket and pretended to be involved with his timetable. **

**"Harry!" Hermione shouted as she hugged him. Ron clapped him on the back and plonked himself down on the bench next to Harry. Hermione sat herself down with a little more grace and the rest of the fifth year Gryffindors arranged themselves around the Golden Trio. **

**"So how did your summer go?" Hermione asked him, buttering a slice of toast.**

**Ron cut in before Harry could answer, "He spent it at the Dursley's, Hermione. How do you think it went?" He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and launched into a long tale about the mischief Fred and George had got up to. Harry was slightly annoyed. He was perfectly capable of answering on his own. He set aside his irritation and concentrated on his second piece of toast. Seamus and Dean were sitting opposite him and he soon joined them in a simple conversation about Muggle stuff. **

**During a lull in the conversation Harry glanced at his timetable in his hand. First thing was double potions which meant two whole hours with _Snape_. Then an hour of Transfiguration with McGonagall followed by Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. His day finished with an hour locked up in the North Tower with Trelawney and her incense; a torture known as Divination. And believe it or not, every lesson was with the Slytherins. **

**Harry picked up his toast, said "see you later" to Ron and Hermione who both ignored him, and Dean and Seamus who both replied and strode out of the Hall. He was slightly annoyed with Ron and Hermione; after all they had spent two weeks at the Weasley's together with nary so much as a decent letter during the entire holiday only a few scrawled notes once a week to send to Harry. **

**Harry traipsed all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower along the more well travelled routes without meeting a single soul, ghost or human. He spoke the password "Peace and Goodwill" and the Fat Lady swung open without a sound. He walked slowly across the common room and climbed the steps for the sixth time that morning, opened the door and stepped through. Shutting the door behind him, Harry plonked himself on his bed and let the sun shine onto his face. He shoved the books out of the way and leant back enjoying the sun which he had so missed during the summer. Harry flinched, as he remembered the crippling darkness which he had been so afraid of. Vernon had left him in there for nearly a week this time without a light and in pain from a broken nose and a lashing with the belt. The angel had of course healed all the injuries but she had been unable to give Harry another light. Harry remembered his uncle's fists after Vernon saw the newly healed nose and the absence of the wounds and he unconsciously rubbed his arms. They had borne the brunt of Vernon's fists and had paid the price. Harry shivered. He couldn't let himself think about it now, it was too dangerous, anyone might come and see him shaking and quivering from a simple memory. **

**His thoughts turning to Ron and Hermione. He was unsure of what to make of them. On the one hand, they had greeted him with warmth and had acted completely normal for them. On the other hand, they had blanked him after that first greeting and Ron had cut him off, something he rarely did. Not only that but Hermione hadn't picked up on it, which she normally would've. Still Harry was determined to make it through the next couple of weeks and if it meant dealing with the new Ron and Hermione then so be it, he decided. **

**Harry looked at his watch and sighed. It was quarter to nine and it took him ten minutes to walk to the dungeons. He grabbed his potions textbook and threw it in his school bag. He chucked in the Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures textbooks and the Divination one as well. He shut his school bag and left the dorm. He exited the common and used the secret passages and corridors again to avoid the crowds he was sure he would encounter. **

**Precisely ten minutes after he left the dorm, Harry arrived at the Potions classroom. The Slytherins were all queued up outside the classroom, oddly silent. The Gryffindors were laughing and talking loudly, their voices compensating for the lack of Slytherin voices. Snape swept up outside the classroom and slammed open the door. Malfoy and the silent Slytherins entered in utter silence. The Gryffindors quieter though not silent followed them in. Harry bought up the rear, his mouth dry at the prospect of enduring another horrible Potion lesson, with biting insults from Snape and horrible comments from the Slytherins. **

**Harry sat down on the row at the front, the Golden Trio's traditional seats. **

**Ron to his right and Hermione to his left, Harry felt rather closed in. Snape took no notice of his discomfort and launched into his beginning of the year speech, "This year shall be your hardest year. You must be able to competently and confidently brew potions. Your performance this year must excel all previous attempts although, _some_, I fear," he glared at the Gryffindors before him, "will not be taking my class beyond this year. Potions is not about wand-waving or meaningless words. It is about careful manipulation, absolute judgement and true dedication. It is not a mere lesson, it is an Art." He swept his eyes across the class, landing on Malfoy, a Slytherin named Zambini and for some reason Harry. "Today's potion is on the board. You have an hour and forty five minutes. You may begin." **

**Harry read off the board and internally cheered. It was an easy potion to make, but one that required constant attention, meaning he could be alone with his thoughts and not have to listen to Hermione's and Ron's constant bickering. **

**He made his way to the store cupboard, with the list of ingredients clutched in his hands. Malfoy and Zambini were there, talking quietly as they picked ingredients. They stopped as Harry approached, moving away quietly without a single comment or even a sneer on either part. Harry retrieved his ingredients and returned to his desk, contemplating what Malfoy and Zambini were talking about to make them refuse a chance to mock the Golden Boy. **

**Harry sliced his caterpillars and let his mind wander over to Snape. Not one snarky comment, not one insult aimed at him. Ron and Hermione were not so lucky however, they were currently being snarled at by Snape for their lack on concentration. Harry just picked up his boomslang skin and slid it into his cauldron, watching as the molten silver colour developed deep emerald green swirls. The colours mixed together again and Harry sighed as the molten silver and emerald green were encompassed in all consuming blood red. **

**He slid a hand into his pocket and his fingers found the seal on the envelope. He traced it mindlessly, wondering when he could read it. **

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**Yo. S'me again. **

**Just had a thought and since I was so lucky as to get ten reviews I shall be kind and post another chapter. I've been a moving house so it's a little chaotic so be nice and review, ne?**


	10. On Hugs, Hurts and Horror

_Maaike, if you are reading this, then it means my messages have once again failed to reach you. If you could just drop me a line or something saying whether you want to continue then I'd be grateful. I don't think it's your fault or anything, just something that happens._

_Thanks anyway, _

And for you guys who reviewed, here's the second part of your reward; another chapter. Enjoy the double-ness of it.

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On Hugs, Hurts and Horror 

Harry sat down at the back in Transfiguration. Potions had been reasonably easy what with Gryffindor only losing twenty-five points within the two hour period. Snape hadn't been lurking over Harry's shoulder every five minutes for some reason. He hadn't even said two words to him and only once looked at him. In fact, Snape had almost seemed to be _avoiding_ Harry, choosing to instead hover menacingly over Ron and Hermione's shoulders and bark insults at _them _instead. Harry didn't know why but he wasn't complaining. For the first time in over four years Potions hadn't been horrifically humiliating and confusing to Harry. It hadn't been easy but he actually understood what Snape was saying and it was made all the easier due to the lack of distractions. The Slytherins had taken to acting the same as their Head of House, and ignored Harry and he was happy to do the same. Only Malfoy looked curiously at Harry when he thought he wasn't looking and only did it once.

Harry had left the classroom and travelled to Transfiguration through more hidden passages and corridors, his hours wandering the castle in previous years coming into their own now.

His second class passed in a flash of time, and the only thing he could say for definite was that McGonagall wasn't going easy on them this year. In his bag was a sheaf of notes written on pieces of old parchment, he had found in the bottom of his school bag. He would need more before the day was out, Harry remembered. The fifth year-no sixth year now - Ravenclaw, Robert Rohurn did a brisk trade in parchment because his father owned Rohurn 'Ritings, which made cheap parchment. During exam season, Hermione gave him a fortune for parchment to make notes. Harry made a mental note to ask him at lunch. Until then he had enough to last him.

During break, Harry went to his dorm to investigate what supplies he actually had. Potions supplies could be borrowed, he decided, eyeing his Potions box with it's content still half full, thanks to the lack of lessons because of the tri-wizard tournament. He could borrow from Snape's student stores if he didn't actually have it. His books would arrive in less than a week and until then he had the spare ones from the library. He still had several bottles of ink and a few battered but still serviceable quills from Hermione. When he considered it, the only thing he was really lacking in was robes and stuff he _wanted _rather than needed.

Like stuff from Zonko's and Quidditch books, stuff he wanted and didn't have to have.

Looking at his watch, which by way of a small miracle still worked, Harry saw it was five minutes till the end of break. He decided to make his way to the Charms classroom and bag a seat at the back. He reached into his pocket for his letter but the warning from this morning came to mind "_You'd best open this when you are sure you are alone_,"

Harry heard the sounds of creaking portraits that hung around the room and recalled that they oftentimes talked to each other and students. If it was so important that McGonagall had to ask for secrecy it didn't need to be spread around the school. He removed his hand and closed his trunk. The soft thud echoed in the air. Harry locked it, pushed it back beside his bed and left the room. He fair flew down the stairs and out of the portrait hole aware of the time. Using the secret routes yet again he made it to Charms with three minutes to spare. He slid into a seat at the back, just as the others were all filing in. They had Charms with the Ravenclaws and Rohurn was sitting just in front of him. Just as Harry was about to reach out and tap him on the shoulder, Rohurn turned round and thrust a large parcel at him. "There you go," Rohurn said.

"Err, thanks" Harry said, "How much do I owe you?"

"Eh? Owe? Nothing. It's all been paid for."

"I don't remember paying for it." Harry stared at the box. He certainly hadn't ordered any parchment with his books.

"Nah, me da said it was a donor who wished to remain anonymous." Rohurn laughed, "Great gift though. Thirty rolls of Fine Weave Parchment of the best quality and two dozen falcon feather quills. Bloodstone and onyx ink the most expensive known. All the letter said was that the parchment was to be delivered to Master H. Potter currently of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All paid for."

Harry was about to protest when he noticed the letter shoved down the side of the paper wrapping. "Eh, thanks Robert."

"No problem." He turned around and left Harry to his letter. Flitwick was still in absence and the class was casually chatting amongst themselves. Harry pulled out the letter, and stared at the address. The address was his, just as Rohurn had said but on the envelope on the bottom left had corner was written, _4 Privet Drive, Little Whingeing, Surrey, London. _Only Ron and Hermione and a few select knew the address. But why would they have sent him the parchment? Why not simply give it to him? He turned it over. There where the seal should have been, the words, _Enon kaepsi te ylla raehil laeesi. Flesym otdnibo tenim dnadol hotenimdna eesotenime eratsa pehtdnat neserpehte rutufeht, _were written in elegant calligraphy.

Harry didn't know what the hell it meant, having never learnt another language or taken ancient runes. He folded the letter away as Flitwick's hat swept his desk and sat up straighter.

As the lesson devolved into question and answer time Harry began playing with the words he had seen written round the edge of the envelope. He distantly remembered the many hours of sitting in his cupboard with Dudley's homework when he was around eight.

Their teacher had gone through a phase of word play and one of her favorites involved writing whole sentences backwards. Applying that rule, Harry wrote out, _I see all, I hear all yet I speak none. The future, the present and the past are mine to see and mine to hold and mine to bind to myself. _A riddle. Harry hated riddles. The one in the maze last year had been hard enough; this was even harder.

Folding the sheet away, Harry turned his attention back to Flitwick as the diminutive professor demonstrated a new spell to the class.

Harry left the classroom, his mind still consumed with the riddle. He looked around for Ron and Hermione but they were conspicuously absent from the corridor. Shrugging it off to a random occurrence Harry made his down to lunch with the rest of his year and was soon in the Great Hall. Seamus waved him over to sit with him, Dean and Neville. "Hi Harry," Dean greeted him warmly, and Neville did the same. Seamus hugged him enthusiastically.

"Umm…Seamus, I'm pleased to see you too, but why are you _hugging_ me?" Harry asked.

"Sorry mate." Seamus said apologetically, "It's just good to see you again."

"Seamus, you saw him last night…" Dean unfastened Seamus from around Harry and Harry could finally breathe. "You didn't manage to actually change water into rum did you?"

Seamus pouted, "No, why?"

Harry just watched as Dean tried to patiently explain to Seamus why he only saw Harry last night and shouldn't therefore need to hug him like that again and Seamus equally patiently tried to explain he should go around hugging Harry because he didn't get nearly enough hugs. Harry and Neville just sat back and watched the two. When the argument settled down, Neville said, "Do you remember how we all met?"

Dean laughed to himself, making everyone look at him, "it's we all made a little family didn't we? Big Brother Dean, Middle Brother Neville and Middle brother Seamus."

"And what was Harry?" Neville asked.

"Our little brother."

Harry smiled. He had a family of sorts, strange and odd though it was, it was his.

"Hey, guys. Do any of you do riddles?" He asked.

"Yeah, I do sometimes" Seamus said, "Why?"

"Just wanted to know if you heard this one before."

"There ain't many I've not heard before." Seamus said, "Tell it me, then."

"_I see all, I hear all yet I speak none. The future, the present and the past are mine to see and mine to hold and mine to bind to myself" _Harry recited for Seamus, "Do you know it?"

"Nah. Sounds like one of the old ones. Them ones that go back hundreds of years and they used to send messages with 'em. Me nan might know."

"Nah don't bother." Harry turned back to his dinner but didn't miss the look on Seamus's face. "What?"

"Harry, don't take this the wrong way or nothing but don't…don't go telling anyone else of that riddle yeah?" Seamus looked shifty, like he knew something he wasn't telling.

"Why?"

"Because I've heard of 'em. Those old riddles. They're not meant for others to hear them. And you en't supposed to have us help you."

"Why?" Dean asked, "I mean, it's just a riddle-"

"No it's not." Neville joined in, "They're old riddles from an old source and only the purebloods are meant to understand them."

"But Seamus isn't pureblood and neither am I." Harry didn't understand. It was all a bit beyond him.

"Me nan was. On my mum's side." Seamus looked apologetic. "Sorry mate. You's meant to find out on your own."

"Oh. Okay." Harry didn't understand but he could see that there was something that neither Seamus or Neville were telling him. Well, if he wasn't going to get help then he would find out on his own or Hermione might know.

"And Harry?"

"Yeah Seamus?"

"I wouldn't go running to Hermione either. She's not meant to hear it."

"What? Why all the secrecy?!" Harry could feel himself getting angry.

"Harry, that riddle was sent to you right? That means you were meant to figure it out. Those riddles are usually sent to people who are going-"

Neville was cut of by Seamus "going places that we do not talk about because it does not concern us, _right Neville_?"

Harry looked at them both. Both boys looked deadly serious for once and neither of them were about to budge an inch.

"Fine." He said abruptly.

"Sorry Harry." Seamus apologized before turning the conversation to what happened in the holidays.

Harry listened with half an ear to the conversation.

The other parts of his mind were consumed with the riddle. No-one could help him answer it and it wouldn't be answered on its own.

Absently spooning a mouthful of mash and gravy into his mouth Harry considered it further. It was something to with time, all the references to past present and future proved that. A clock? But a clock couldn't hear. Unless it was a magical one but even so it didn't bind time to itself and it could only tell the present time. It couldn't do past or future.

And a clock didn't own time.

Harry mused on it further, before leaving to go to the library. He said he'd meet the other three in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Once in there, he meandered down the many aisles of books, relishing the silence. Vernon had made the house so loud with his drunken yelling and Dudley's music (he'd discovered heavy bass) hadn't helped. Now he was addicted to silence.

Finding himself in a far corner with a few books on the shelves Harry had a look at one of the titles. _"Heritage and Heirs" _was chained to the shelf with heavy iron chains and next to it was_ "Inheriting and Information" _also chained to the shelf.

But what drew Harry's eye was the book chained under the window. "_The Blooded and Rituals_" was heavily bound to a table, its pages stained with mysterious bloodlike clouds. It gave off an ominous air, casting a dark shadow on the atmosphere.

Harry picked it up, the chains rattling and clinking like warnings to him. He tried to put it on the table but the chains drew up short, forbidding him to take the book. Replacing it on the shelf, Harry gently opened the cover and almost gagged on the scent emerging from the tome; blood, old and stale but unmistakable after the summer Harry had just endured. Rank, thick and heady, it rushed up to meet Harry, engulfing him and opening doors in his mind to memories long forgotten.

Harry staggered away from the shelf, his senses reeling. _VernonDudleybeatingspainhorrorfeartrailsthebeltrunhidefearVernonstickbloodpunishmentbadboy._

The words surrounded him, rushed at him, forced him into a world of chanting evil words and horror. Panting, frightened Harry turned and turned trying to escape the words, only to find that they followed him.

His world turned black. And finally silence.

Sometime later Harry returned to the present, his neck aching and his hands bloody from where he had fallen on them. He sat up slowly, his mind confused. The light from the windows was lower, yellowier than he remembered. Suddenly he glanced at his watch. Class started in less than two minutes. Harry scrambled to his feet, turning to look back at the book. It sat innocently on the shelf, its chains shining and perfectly still. Harry didn't turn his back to the back all the time he could still see it, and even then he turned to look over his shoulder every few seconds. He could still feel the books' presence around him, even though he was nearly three floors away from it.

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Just incase you didn't see the real riddle, here it is again: 

_I see all, I hear all yet I speak none. The future, the present and the past are mine to see and mine to hold and mine to bind to myself_

And that's all for now folks.

Have pity on a ill student and review ne? I like reviews. They're better than the horrible medicine the doc gave me.

Please?!

Okay, I'll stop begging. It's hurting my hands and I'm sleepy. Nighty-night.


	11. Of Rememberance and Rules

**Right. After however many months of silence, I IS BACK! –evil laugh- ahem. Moving on...I is back and if I get five reviews on this I'll post the next chapter immediately. Otherwise you're waiting until August. Just five little reviews... **

**You can do it! I know you guys can –hopes-**

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**Of Annoyance, Actions, And Actualisations**

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He was getting sick of this, Harry thought slamming the cubicle door behind him. Outside Ron's feet wandered up and down by the sinks. Neither Ron nor Hermione were letting him out of their sight, now going so far as to escort him to the toilet. It was beginning to feel oppressive and distinctly annoying. Why the hell were they following him everywhere? After yesterday, he had been half convinced they wanted no more to do with him, ignoring him all the way through meals and lessons and then cutting him off when he tried to speak. Today was the exact opposite. They sat one either side of him in the Great Hall and sat next to him in lesson, far bloody closer than they needed to be. Every time Dean or Seamus had tried to talk to him, Harry was either hustled off under the excuse of "I thought you didn't like him..." or even better Hermione's excuse of "We need to go to the Library to do homework..." It was the second day. How many essays had Harry managed to get in less than forty-eight hours? Precisely two. One from naturally came from Snape (the git) and the other from McGonagall. Neither in for another month. He had plenty of time and Harry had made up better lies in his sleep and he was getting progressively more annoyed with his two best friends-turned-limpets. Why the hell wasn't he allowed to go anywhere alone? What trouble could possibly affect him in a bathroom for Merlin's sake? Perhaps the Saviour of the Wizarding World might run out of loo paper at a vital moment in time or even (shock, horror) get himself locked him a cubicle. Harry was half-inclined to do that now, as it might gain him five minutes alone. He needed it. After a whole day being stuck in class, he wanted alone time. And he wasn't getting it.

"Harry? Harry, are you alright?" Ron. Again. Harry was really glad he was just sat on the loo, seat down, as he had no doubt that had he actually been doing something, that shouting would have been really really annoying.

"I'm fine Ron. Why don't you go outside and talk to Hermione for a while. I might be some time." He called back, crossing his fingers. This might get rid of Ron for five minutes. He might even get to read the contents of the letter. At any rate, he would be granted some time alone and some peace and quiet.

Apparently t'was not to be... "Nah." Ron's voice seemed too chipper. "I wanted to talk to you about something..." Harry was half inclined to swear. Five minutes peace anyone?

"What about?" He figured he might as well play the game.

Ron didn't answer, though there seemed to be plenty of shuffling feet. "Ahh...Umm..." If Harry didn't know better, he might say Ron was playing for time. "Umm...Err..." Yes. Definitely playing for time. "Oh, yeah. Do you think Hermione likes me?"

"...What?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah mate. She's nuts for you." Now would you please leave he thought, rather savagely.

He rubbed his forehead which was now pounding like someone had shoved a bludger in there. "Oww..." he whimpered as it got rapidly worse. God was it Voldemort again? Oddly, as soon as his thoughts turned to Voldemort, he felt the headache recede. It was like drinking a calming potion neat and oh so pleasant. He reclined against the cistern and just wanted to live in this nice haze forever.

"Harry?" Oh for the Love of Merlin. This guy just didn't give up.

"What?!" Harry could have dropped his head into his hands. Nine hours of this and he was already cracking.

"I just wanted to know if you were alright. Jeesus Harry. I'm just being a friend-" Oh here we go, Harry thought, Ron the saintly, incorrectly judged. How many times had he heard this before? He sunk his head into his hands and let Ron's bather drift over as he contemplated his bracelet. Who and where and why had someone given him this? It was protective – that much he could tell, but there was what Mr Weasley said "Never trust something if you can't see where it keeps its brain." And it was true. Despite the protection he felt from it, it could be a whole another story; it might be hiding something inside it. After so many warnings of Death Eaters on his tail, perhaps risking one's own neck was looking a little...less appealing. A lot less appealing.

He stood and banged open the door, wishing it could be louder and stood next to the sinks. Ron stood over by the door still ranting away. Harry tuned him out. He was doing a lot of that recently, he thought. Too much if he cared to think about it. Although, he thought tuning back in, maybe it was too little instead. He looked at the tap – the design and even down the mark where the little snake had been on the tap on the third sink from clockwise in the second floor girls bathroom...It reminded him so much of his second year, the year The Basilisk came to Hogwarts and Lord Voldemort was partially reincarnated as his former self Tom Riddle – pre-snake face/no nose/laugh so-high-that-I-sound-like-I've-been-kicked-in-the-bollocks-one-too-many-times. Quite frankly it was an experience he did not desire to repeat. He frowned. The mirror was shimmering and what the hell? Did the light suddenly get dimmer...?

_There was a house in the mirror; like it had turned into a window. Screams and shouts came from inside, flashes of red and green light. The windows shattered, the top left of the roof aflame. The flames crackled greedily and there was a hooded figure standing outside. Harry couldn't see their face...Who were they, what did they want with the house? Why weren't they helping? Or were they a death eater? What was going on? _

_A high pitched laugh came from the top left of the house, a broken window with the curtains half in and half outside the sill. Why was no one helping the woman? Why was the figure in the cloak not doing anything? He wanted to shout, to run and help the woman but he couldn't move. He was an observer. A helpless observer. Suddenly there was movement inside the house, more screams and shouts, the sound of running feet. The door burst open, a man came out. Then more...many more. Twenty? Thirty? Forty? He couldn't count them but then the one closest to him turned and Harry saw the horrific white mask. Death Eaters. Here like vultures at a carcass. _

_There was more laugher from inside the house, and the worst sound ever. "AVADA KEDAVA!" There was deathly silence, like time stopped for a moment, a year, a century Harry didn't know, didn't care. Then it sped back up again. And the whole house seemed to implode and Harry fell deep into the green light that came at him like a demon running from hell itself. _

"Shit!" He whispered, leaning on the sink, forehead resting on the glass. That was...weird. Where had it come from? Why him? He pulled his head back, grimancing at the feeling of sweat on his forehead. Rubbing the mark off the mirror (tenetively) he turned to find Ron. Only to see the boy still wittering on totally unawares of his supposed best friend's weirdest trip ever.

"Shall we go to dinner Harry?" Ron asked, finally finishing his monologue. At last.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking back at the innocent looking mirror, "Yeah. Why not?"

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**Now remember, I want five more... And I know exactly how many reviews I have!**

**Oh by the way, review replies are on the next one, cause that one's so much longer.  
**

**JJ**


	12. Madding Things, Messages and Mysteries

Harry stared at the letter

**I won't be able to access this computer for a while due to unforeseen circumstances involving a doctor's appointment and a friend in trouble so here you are; three reviews early. **

**Thanks for all the reviews to all of you. I can't reply to all of you, and in fact I probably can't do it to any of you but each and every one of them is appreciated well read and loved. Each and every one of them. I love them all. **

**In this chapter we get a little more action and a little more mystery. It's not very long but it's a damn sight longer than the last one. Twice the length in fact which is a miracle when you consider the fact that I have like zero time.**

**Read on my friends...all about...**

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**Of Madding Things, Messages and Mysteries**

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Ron had finally gone to sleep, the rest of the dorm not far behind him. Harry had kept the letter clutched in his hand, gripping it tightly as he waited for the other boys to go off to sleep. He wanted to read it alone and he wanted to be alone. Ron and Hermione had followed him all freaking day and after breakfast, lessons, dinner, and even a late Quidditch match with Ron had left Harry almost to tears about being around other people. When he finally heard the snores emanating from Ron's bed he slid out of his own four-poster, wrapped himself in the Invisibility Cloak and consulted the Marauders Map as to who was down in the Common Room. Surprise, surprise it was Hermione, near the fire. Dammit though. How was he meant to get out of the Common Room via the portrait without her noticing? He carefully slipped through the crack in the door, and clutching Map, envelope and his wand with the Cloak wrapped securely around himself made his way down the stairs. He could see Hermione over by the fire, apparently asleep. She murmured and rolled over, away from the portrait door. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, Harry opened the door and slid thorough the gap. Apparently the Fat Lady was also asleep, her snores following down the corridor.

Where to go and read this letter though? He strolled through the corridors, heedless of where he actually was or indeed going. Several flights of stairs later, Harry finally clicked; the library. Usually deserted of Madame Pince and her little gang of dedicated Ravenclaw helpers at this time of night and little chance of being disturbed as long as he didn't venture into the restricted section, it was perfect for what he wanted.

Once again Harry consulted the map as to how to get there. However a bigger problem loomed. In the hideous form of Argus Filch and the man was coming Harry's way. Just around the next corner, and sure to find Harry if he stood there like an idiot. Sweeping the invisibility cloak around him, Harry searched for a place to hide. There was no where because unnoticed Harry had wandered into the old section of the Charms corridor and there were no cupboards or class rooms nearby to hide in. Checking the map again, he mentally cursed, Filch was now only about ten feet from turning the corner and Harry was still in the open where if Mrs Norris came by, she would be sure to find him. Desperate for a place to hide, Harry placed one foot on a large chest in front of the window and scrambled up onto a window ledge nearly five feet off the ground. If Filch found him up here, it would be a miracle.

Whatever gods there were, were on Harry's side that day, and Filch wandered past Harry completely unaware of his presence. Harry sighed in relief and climbed gingerly off the window ledge. He rubbed his arm which had been resting on the window and was now ice-cold. Re-opening the map, Harry picked a direction and started walking to the library.

He checked his watch and Harry was amazed to find it was twenty past one in the morning. Pushing open the door and quickly shut it again behind himself, Harry saw a lantern sat on the shelf and he picked it up. It was still lit, he thought as he strolled through the bookshelves. He wondered where to sit so as not to be disturbed He walked right to the far right of the room, and found a little alcove hidden between a wall and a bookcase. As long as he didn't make any noise he shouldn't be found. He blew out the lantern, finding the bright full moon light enough to read by. He looked around; no-one was there. He had reason to make sure, after the warning he had been given.

Carefully he peeled open the flap, going underneath the seal. He pulled it up and saw immediately why it felt so odd. It was an Expansion Charmed envelope containing files. Hundreds and hundred of files, seeming crammed into the envelope, miniaturised. Some seemed thin, maybe only two or three sheets thick, others were huge, several inches or more thick, small as they were. He pulled out the first one, and as it left the envelope it expanded, becoming inches thick and a hefty weight. He opened it and stared at the first sheet of parchment.

"_Dear Young Master Potter: Heir Apparent._

_It has come to the attention of Gringotts Bank, that you have reached the inheritance age of Eleven. Since you have no other blood or name relative eligible for the inheritance at this moment in time, you have been bestowed with the title of Heir Apparent in accordance with the Family of Potter's Rules and Traditions._

_We at Gringotts Bank of Moneys and Investments, would like to take this opportunity to extend our sincerest congratulations on this matter and would request that you make arrangements with your Family Goblin, Silvermon Alonairon, to discuss the details of your family's Wills and investments as well as the liquid assets associated with you and your family name._

_Sincerely,_

_Almon Longaff_

_Director of Inheritance and Familial Matters_

Harry was confused. He had never seen this letter in his life, never mind aged eleven. He looked at the date. August 1st 1991. Well, that was odd. He had never seen a letter such as this one...

He pulled out the second one; read it in amazement.

_Dear Young Master Potter; Heir Apparent _

_It has come to my attention that you have yet to book an appointment to see me, your Family Goblin. There are several matters of urgency requiring your attention and it would be best for all parties involved if you would get 'in contact' with me. Gringotts Bank would be more than happy to provide a mode of transport if you require it or to alternatively, to make arrangements to meet at a location of your choosing. _

_Given both your age and unique circumstances I must urge you to contact me immediately or at your earliest convenience. Matters of the greatest urgency require your attention and parties involved may be obliged to bring legal action against you. _

_Yours Sincerely_

_Silvermon Alonairon_

_Potter Family Goblin_

That one was dated August 12th 1991 and yet again Harry had no memory of ever receiving it. He placed it aside and took up the next one.

_Dear Young Master Potter; Heir Apparent,_

_It has once again come to my attention that yet again you have failed to contact me. It is vital that you now do so. There are now many matters which concern you and your input. Therefore your presence at my office is vital in order to ensure the fact that these matters are settled. I fear legal action unless you contact me to arrange this meeting. Young Master Potter I understand your circumstances and I do sympathise with you but I urge you to get in contact. Your inheritance itself might be at stake. Legal action is being considered. _

_Yours Sincerely_

_Silvermon Alonairon_

_Potter Family Goblin_

What in the name of Merlin was going on here? This one was dated August 23rd 1991. He laid it aside and took up a fourth, marked as 5th _September _1991.

_Dear Young Master Potter; Heir Apparent_

_It has come to light that you have retained a guardian for yourself by name of Albus Dumbledore. Since we have had no written conformation from you or your legal advisors and have yet to meet with you, we cannot allow him access to the Potter Familial Vaults nor to any of the properties attached to the Potter name. _

_We have also been informed that you will be henceforth attending an educational facility of an unidentified location and will, therefore, be unable to attend the weekly meetings with me, your Family Goblin. I have since made arrangements to send regular inventories of the vaults attached to you, stock information and bank statements to your current address every second week. _

_I still urge you to get in contact with me, Young Master Potter. There are matters which concern you and your Family which require urgent attention. _

_Yours Sincerely_

_Silvermon Alonairon_

_Potter Family Goblin_

Alright...This made no sense. Since when had Dumbledore been his guardian? The Durselys were. Weren't they? Who the hell found this out, where did they dig it up from and WHO the fuck were they?! This...did not make sense. One bit. What the hell was going on here though? Statements? Letters? Guardianship he had never know about? Dumbledore? Harry cast his mind back but he sure, nay he was certain he had never received anything like this from Gringotts. Flicking through the rest of the file, random phrases leapt out at him, rushing into his head.

"_Dear Mr Potter..." _

"_Heir Apparent..."_

"_Must Meet..."_

"_Legal Action..."_

"_Urgent Matters..."_

"_Possible closure..."_

"_Loco-Parentis..." _

Wait, what? Loco Parentis? He knew that word, he knew it... Hermione had told him once... Oh yeah he remembered now...

**FLASHBACK**

"_Hey Harry. Did you know, Hogwarts acts in Loco Parentis? They can even decide whether or not to allow us to be married if we're seventeen. That's so strange."_

"_What's Loco Parentis?"_

"_The term __in loco parentis__, __Latin__ for "in the place of a parent", refers to the legal responsibility of a person or organization to take on some of the functions and responsibilities of a __parent__." Oh. Nice short definition then..._

**END FLASHBACK**

So what the hell? Something weird was going on. He pulled out the sheet of parchment and groaned as it unfolded to three times its original size. He read the top. "An Application of Guardianship, in the Interests of the Ward, as Decreed by the State for Such Occasions as When the Child must Be Protected Under The Great Protection Act of 1895 of All Children Orphaned by Magical Or Muggle Means, Without Home nor Adult Guidance in Accordance with Law of Minster for Magic Lundrew Bagthold." Dear Merlin. The rest of the letter read much in the same way.

"_In accordance with the law of the state of Wizarding England, the application of Guardianship of Harry James Potter of the Potter line has been given to Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore of the Dumbledore-Asthreth line. This is done under the law of the State for Such Occasions as When the Child Must Be Protected Under The Great Protection Act of 1895 of All Children Orphaned by Magical Or Muggle Means, Without Home nor Adult Guidance in Accordance with Law of Minster for Magic Lundrew Bagthold._

_Harry James Potter of the Potter line (hereafter called the Orphan) shall be entrusted to Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore of the Dumbledore-Asthreth line (hereafter called the Guardian) until the Orphan is of age which is of seventeen years at the time of this rite or until decreed able and willing to take care of himself or until such a time when he no longer needs care or until such a time as when the Guardian is unable or unwilling to care for the Orphan. _

_Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore of the Dumbledore-Asthreth line swears to do the following; to provide food and drink for the Orphan in reasonable and regular amounts, to provide shelter of an adequate and consistent nature, to provide a bed or place of reasonable structure for the Orphan to sleep. He swears to provide clothing and heath care as needed, taking the Orphan's gender, sex and status into consideration. He swears to provide guidance in both physical and moral matters as pertaining to the Orphan. He swears to provide both education and discipline to the child in matters both personal and moral and of magical means to a reasonable and restrained degree unless the occasion should call for it, with no other alternative. The Guardian swears to provide safety and refuge against foe and evil and swears to conclude any issues with education or other persons to the best of his ability and capacity. The Guardian swears in time of war or unrest that the Orphan shall be well cared for and have plans or a Will to decide upon the Orphan's safely and care in the event of death or mortal injury or mental incapacitation..._

It went on but Harry put it down. Harry didn't speak legal jargon but one of the languages he knew but didn't speak was Bullshit. And right now he was seeing only Bullshit. He hadn't ever seen any sign of this and for some reason he could feel that he wasn't getting whatever the Bullshitty letter was telling him he was. The signature at the bottom read, "Lillian Melicith" and apparently she was the "Officiator of the Magical Adoption Board and System". Apparently a long winded way to say Social Worker.

Harry picked up another letter from Gringotts dated 11th November 1991.

_Dear Young Master Potter; Heir Apparent_

_In order to allow Mr Albus Dumbledore to be registered as your Guardian in the eyes of Gringotts bank, we require that you sign the attached form with a Blood Key. We cannot accept Mr Dumbledore's claim unless you do so. We urge you to get in contact with your family goblin. It is now vital that you do so, since we have several matters of a emergency state and they must been dealt with as soon as possible. I repeat Mr Potter, you may face several court action and even a term in Azkaban should this not be completed. _

_It is in your best interests to speak with me Mr Potter._

_Yours Sincerely_

_Silvermon Alonairon_

Okay. This did not make sense. He had never received any letters of any description. Had never been an Orphan or been under Dumbledore's Guardianship. He put his head in his hands. Who was sending him this stuff? Why? And what did they expect him to believe about it? It was so wildly untrue, it had to be a lie, a prank.

It had to be. Or if it was real something was seriously fucked up...

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**The next chapter has a little preview below...**

"_**Harry Potter Kidnapped... No traces remain...Death Eaters claim responsibility..." Where is the boy who lived? Death Eaters say they did it and Boy Who Lived is dead – Ministry denying all accusations!"**_

**Where indeed is the little Boy Who Lived and what the Death Eaters want with him? **

**Review to find out...**


	13. Of Paper, Puzzlement and Photographs

Disclaimer: It's not mine, I don't own it and I never will or have done in the past. I make no money from this and my only prfit somes in the form of reviews. Good enough for you, lawyers of the JK lot?

Now that is over...

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Well, ladies and gentlemen there you have it: 4,696 words of my sweat blood and tears. Everything should start coming back together now, I've almost finished with the letters though. I am quite pleased with how these newspaper articles turned out though, it's good practise! My people would be proud of me…if I had any people….Yeah, well moving on, I have a plan and an idea for more updates but I don't want to spoil you too much.

Right, …what was I doing….Oh right. I remember now. This story is going for the old but excellent mode of Dumbledore!Bashing, with a mild dose of Hermione!Bashing and a heavy heavy dose of Ron!Bashing. I would like to make that clear to all you little people out there who wanted to know what was going down and those of you who have decided that you don't like that kind of story. That's fine, you're **not obligated **to read my story but I would like to point out that I don't give a damn if you want to flame. And those of you, who would like to flame, leave off.

Now that I have the attention of only those who are either bored enough to read this, or weirdly interested in my author notes, I would like to give you some more definitive points in the plot line since I have been asked by a few people in PMs.

--Harry will go to Gringotts soon – he will find out some more things there –evil grin- but if you want to know what you'll just have to wait.

--Harry will have a talk with both Dumbles and with the other two thirds of the Golden Trio – expect the unexpected is all the warning I'm going to give you on that.

--Slytherins will start to play their hands soon – be prepared for a lot of OOCness.

--Lots of official documents and things coming up, some of them important some vital so keep your eyes peeled is all I can say!

Umm…brief outline for those of you who wanted it, warning against flamers, brief introduction by yours truly…what else have I missed…

Oh Yeah. The QUESTION : Harry is going to be doing the whole branching out on my own thing (with a side helping of a very helpful group of people – some you would expect some you wouldn't) but what I wanted to know, is this a good way to do it and to set the scene about what's going to go down or are you just sitting at your desk going "Who the hell?"

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Right now that's out of the way; review replies are in order –

For Chapter Twelve -:

**choirsinger – **OMG? Does this chapter also warrant an OMG or just a LOL? I have updated, there is a lovely chapter just ready and waiting for you and thanks for reviewing!

**charlie-becks – **Aww…I never meant to make you hate me…just really really dislike me maybe…-hands you a hanky to wipe away the tears- well here you go and umm…about the whole kidnapping thing…well you'll see….And yes, Harry will be visiting the bank very very soon in order to conduct some business and do a little bit of sort of investigation. So expect to meet some old friends again!

**rosiegirl – **Aww…thank you for being so nice and telling me and her that – I hope you don't mind but I told her you sent that. She smacked me upside the head for telling my readers but after that she said she was most pleased that someone "cared enough to comment". Nice person –hugs the nice person-

**HeatherLB – **Ooh calm down, don't need to be taking you to the hospital - I've had enough of them to last me a life time. And here you go in answer to the request of MORE PLEASE! Ermm…I hope you did get some sleep since it's been almost a month since I updated and I'd hate to be the cause of a mental breakdown due to lack of sleep…Still thanks for reviewing!

For Chapter Eleven-

**translucency for summertime – **Cheers, that's what I like to see, even just a short review can be nice and yours most certainly was – Thanks for reviewing! Oh by the way you have such an _awesome_ penname!

**rosiegirl – **Oh, Hi again… I'll reply to you again…-hugs nice reviewer again- Ermm…In answer to your question of how long before Harry kills the other two thirds of the Golden Trio – you're probably looking at not very long. In this fic I plan to give Harry one hell of a temper –evil grin again-. As to what's up with them, well you should find out in either the next chapter or the one after that and hopefully the ball is already rolling on things happening. It should –fingers crossed- start getting more exciting and a little more mysterious from here on out.

**choirsinger - **-pats reviewer on the head-it's nice to be hearing from you again, and it's good to know you love this story! (I've just about had enough of doing plotologies and whatnot but hey, if you like it I'll plod on with it.) And I shall now point you too going down and there you shall have it in that I have indeed done the impossible and _updated!!_ –crowd gasps and marvels at the feat-

For Chapter Ten

**LibraMonkey –**It's nice to hear from you once again but Good Lord don't let me get started on your spelling – moving on from that I never know either so it all ends up sound so overly pompous and degrading it's almost enough to make you stop writing fanfiction for good but I SHALL NOT FAIL. Instead I shall PREVAIL! Aren't I good? I made a rhyme!...And I digress...I will keep up with this story and hopefully the Holes one but I cannot summon up the energy to stop being Lazy. But then again, that's my natural state so you shouldn't try to change what you can't. But don't quote me on it. And as for Seamus being hot for Harry...well...I have plans is all I'm going to say. Peace out!

**panther73110 – **Awesome it is –author hopes-

And that is that last of the author replies I will do on this chapter – I cannot believe it you know. I have written 4696 words of story and 1414 words of author notes. That is almost a whole quarter again of author notes. You had better appreciate me for doing this...Please remember to review and onwards and upwards my friends!

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**Of Paper, Puzzlement and Photographs**

Harry flipped over the letter, and found another folder secreted beneath the letter. A folder within a folder, and as soon as he touched it, it expanded to a normal sized folder...several inches thick again. He flipped it open and removed the blank sheet of parchment on top of the pile and his mouth fell open at the picture on the front page. A grave yard, stretching off the edge of the photo in every direction, absolutely littered with gravestones. The captions underneath read _"Graves of the dead: More than two thousand" _The date put the article in the September of 1982. He unfolded it and read the story underneath the picture.

_**List of the Dead at One Million!**_

_Written by Maeve Wilerson_

_The Death toll for the war against the Dark Wizards rises ever higher, and continues to do so, hour by hour despite Ministry claims to the contrary. Far from the Ministry's assurances that the war would, "blow over in a few weeks with minimal casualties and fatalities and not affect the general population" the general population has indeed suffered terribly in the war. _

_Even though security measures have been taken by much of the Wizarding population like passwords and specialist wards set up and even the mass emigration to places like Australia and the Far East, those who can't or won't move are left to pick up the dead. Family reasons, financial issues and a falling economy are just some of the things which force people to remain behind, in a country fast becoming war torn. Whole villages are being attacked, in particular are those who have a mixed Muggle and Magical community or those who share land with the Muggles. Places in London, like the Magical part of China Town and some of the poorer parts of East End have been attacked but infrequently, suggesting that the attacks are merely linked to specific people rather than the whole community. _

_However attacks on influential people in Wizarding circles ranging from Politics to Education to Business and Commerce and into Literature and the Entertainment industry, have all been committed by the so called Death Eaters, followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Transfiguration Professor of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva __McGonagall was attacked at her Scottish Home of the legendary McGonagall castle, along with her two younger sisters and their maternal grandmother. In a four hour siege, the courageous females held the castle firm against a unspecified number of Death Eaters, thought to be anywhere between thirty and seventy in number. Taken to __St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, in the North of London, by Aurors who responded four hours after the initial attack, none of the McGonagall Ladies were badly injured and were visited by the Minster for Magic to commend them for their determination and perseverance in the face of adversity. Other people who have been attacked include the current Official Head of Goblin Liaison and his family, the owner of The WWN, Brian Goodhanks and his family, and owner of the Zonko's Joke Shop Enterprises, Miranda Hanynes and her husband. _

_Attacks are not just limited to people either. Institutions and businesses are also being attacked in themselves, including one of the many magical buildings guarding entrances to the famous Wizarding London Shopping Street, Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron was set alight and partially destroyed by a small group of Death Eaters. Despite the fact the fire was quickly put out by brave bystanders, the damage to the five century old building was wide spread and costly. Front beams collapsed due to the fire, four of the twenty rooms for overnight or short term residence were rendered unusable and the downstairs open floor dining area was smoke damaged and would require a large amount of work to repair it. Owner of the Leaky Cauldron, Thomas J. Harris, known to his regulars as 'Tom' said later, "I'm devastated. This place has been in my family since it opened. It's my life, my everything and they've destroyed it. It's not only that, my family and I call it home…" Tom and his family of his wife and their five children have been placed in a nearby hotel, paid for by patrons of the pub-turned-restaurant. A fund has already been set up and work to repair the building has already begun. Tom, his family and his patrons are reported as being "delighted, and truly grateful" for that fact. _

_Other famous buildings and intuitions to have been attacked have been Hallington's Garden Nurseries, believed to have been attacked because it employs Muggles to grow and cultivate plants and flowers used for everything from festivals to weddings of famous people like Celina Warbeck's marriage to the band's Winter's Wonder's lead singer Jerry Histon. Also attacked was the Newton Shelter, set up for the refuge's of the war and Junton Town Hall also used to house the homeless made so by the war. Both institutions are believed to have been attacked because of the fact, both house Muggle-borns and their families – Muggles being against the creed of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. _

_On this day, The Ministry of Magic released a document containing the number of the victims of the self proclaimed Dark Lord and his followers. Now totalling at one million dead and more than a thousand people having been tortured to insanity through the __**Cruciatus Curse**__, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had taken Britain by storm. More are feared to be dead yet unnamed as the list of the Missing rises every day, at the last count reaching eight thousand two hundred and fifty one people. _ _As a thought for the public, this reporter researched and found this information: the oldest person killed in this war to date was one hundred and thirty-nine year old Duncan-Albert Roswert from York. _ _The youngest known deceased victim was nine day old Emily Brown, from Manchester._

Harry finished reading the article, wondering at the devastation Voldemort had done during his first uprising and reign. If nothing else, Harry did not want to see the evil Wizard rise to this level of power again… He flicked through the articles, deciding to read some of them later, including an interesting one, with the headline of _"The Rising of The Dark Lord!" _However, it was one near the end of the pile that caught his eye, the picture of fireworks and what appeared to be a party well under way. Dating put it at November the first. He picked it up and bought it closer to the window, so it would be easier to read…

_**He-Who-Must-Be-Named Dead!**_

_Written by Maeve Wilerson_

_On October 31__st __1982, the Wizarding World was finally rid of the Dark Wizard, You-Know-Who! The self-proclaimed Dark Lord perished at an unnamed location, thought to be around the famous magical estates known collectively as Godric's Hollow, in the South of England. Today, secret Ministry coroners autopsied the body found and declared at 11:51 AM that the body was indeed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and he was indeed dead from what appeared to be a backfired Killing Curse. The cause of this? The person behind the slaying of the Dark Lord? It was Harry James Potter, newly titled as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry is the son of James and Lily Potter, who are still at this moment in time missing presumed dead. Our thoughts at the Prophet are with them._

_Experts on Spell Casting who did not wish to be named, said we may never know what happened on Halloween Night – 1982. Indeed, the only survivor found was the infant Boy-Who-Lived, aged just a year old. However experts were able to hypothesize that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named entered the Potter's House at Godric's Hollow, duelled with someone in the living area and made his way up the stairs. In the Nursery suite, He-Who-Must-Be-Named attempted to cast two Killing Cures, which are, as most readers know, The Worst of The Unforgivable Curses. One, the experts believe, did succeed in killing at least one person in the room. However, the second and more powerful curse was sent at the cot and, they believe, rebounded off the Infant Harry Potter and struck He-Who-Must-Be-Named, leaving Him dead._

_Few details are forthcoming, owing to the incredible secrecy of the event, but the Ministry issued the preliminary autopsy report which revealed that the one of the bodies recovered was indeed He-Who-Must-Be-Named's and he is dead. The British Isles can now begin to celebrate the death of He-Who-Must-Be-Named and bury our dead in peace._

_There will be three minutes silence at midday on November the 4__th__ in commemoration for all those who died in the fight against the Rising of Evil and He-Who-Must-Be-Named._

Harry looked at the date again and sighed. Reported always did deliver a scoop quickly. It was really rather disturbing, Harry thought, reading about yourself like this. He came to the conclusion that he hated it, hated having everything about him spread over a page of paper that millions would see if not more. However, he noted as he re-read the article, this Maeve Wilerson was by far less sensationalising when it came to the facts, unlike the current reporter Rita Skeeter. He cringed at the thought of the blonde hair woman with her blasted acid-green quill. She was a demon in disguise as far as Harry was concerned, and the conclusion of all her writings were petty tabloid material and only just containing enough facts to make it half-true. Putting aside that piece of paper, Harry looked out the window as he picked up another. From here, he could see the Quidditich pitch, the stands silvery black in the bright moonlight. Checking his watch, he marvelled at the fact it was five to two in the morning and he didn't feel at all sleepy. He was eager to read on, to discover what was going on, what else this mysterious envelope with its cache of folders contained.

He bought the sheet of paper into the moonlight, idly noticing that it was another article. Then he read the headline and his brain stopped working. He just stared at the article, his mind frozen in place. Then he had a thought – WHAT THE FUCK? Harry rarely swore but he felt the article required the use of at least one swearword. Hell, he could use twenty and still be justified. Hands shaking just the tiniest bit, Harry lifted the paper closer and started to read, almost fearing to do so. It was dated November 11th 1982.

_**Boy-Who-Lived to be Adopted?**_

_Written by Maeve Wilerson_

_A list of families wishing to adopt the famous Boy-Who-Lived, has been released by the Ministry of Magic today. Having lost both his parents in the attack during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was slain, The-Boy-Who-Lived has been staying in the St Mungo's Paediatric Unit for Spell Damage and Orphans for treatment of minor injuries and to monitor him for signs of unusual magic. Over a week after the slaying of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry is now eligible for adoption due to the terrible and unfortunate discovery of his parent's demise._

_The Boy-Who-Lived, son of the infamous couple James and Lily Potter, was formally placed on the Adoption List at the age of one year, three months and seven days under the name Harry James Potter-Evans with several conditions attached to his adoption. In accordance with the Law of Self-Knowledge and Understanding of the 12c. by passage of the Statue of Self made in 1678 these specifications must be fulfilled to completion. One was that he should retain /both/ his surnames and any other name should be placed after them, a specification designed by the Board of Orphans and Abandoned Children, because of "Harry Potter-Evans should have knowledge of both parents who died the same night he did, and the best way is to keep both their names. Harry Potter-Evans is not a son made by one parent, he had two and in order for him to maintain a bond with both parents, he will retain both names in both honour and remembrance of them…". Another was that he should be informed of his heritage and his title during his childhood; specified specifically by the Minister for Magic, Arnold Stretworthy himself. His reasoning was "Harry Potter is an integral part of Wizarding society now. He will learn of his heritage through either his family or his peers as he grows older. Since there are still many supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named around, he may be influenced by them unduly. It is therefore in his best interests to learn of his heritage from a source he knows and trusts..."_

_The list of families, already nearly twenty-five thousand names strong, grows longer by the hour, Meri Longman of the Adoption, Inheritance and Registry of Births Department told reporters today. Names from far flung corners of the globe including China, India, Russia and even as far as Japan could be found on the list. Closer to home, names from America, France, Germany, Italy and England were also present. Several names include the Malfoys of France, the Johnson-Lindus of Scotland and even the reclusive Hillinby-Transon-Fletchers of Yorkshire. The O'Rourkes of Ireland as well as the Hannigans and the O'Chilleys (also of Ireland or Irish descent) have all requested Guardianship. Several names from China such as the Quian-Shings and the Xiao-Lings are also on the list. Other magical families from Russia like the Tropenofski clan and the Irentrov clan have petitioned to be given Guardianship. The Ministry has sworn to carefully consider each and every one of the applications and to only place the Boy-Who-Lived with a family that can support and provide for him adequately with careful consideration to his 'special' needs and heritage. They said the final decision may not be made for several months, owing to the large amount of investigation and discussion of the case, partly due to Master Potter's most unusual circumstances._

_The Daily Prophet will keep you informed of on the Boy-Who-Lived's potential family news._

Harry just stared at the picture, one of him, all cute cheeks and big green eyes. He had been up for adoption? All those years at the Dursleys were for what? Nothing? He put the paper down, suddenly no longer able to look at his own face, albeit one from fourteen years in the past. Was this a lie? Was it all for someone's sick amusement? Was it a trick of Voldemort, designed and orchestrated to set him off balance, to send him round the twist? But Harry could see no reason to lie, no reason to do this. Why not send him hate mail, send someone to kill him or attack someone close to him? Why bother collecting newspaper of all things? This was so….so…it was so what? Harry didn't even have words to describe what he was feeling right now. Nothing could compare to finding out that quite possibly years of abuse might have been exchanged for a life in the lap of luxury with a family. A real life, hugging-kissing-"I Love You Too," Family. Harry placed the article aside and pulled out the next one. Dated the 6th of December, this one was a continuation of the above previous article…

_**Short-listed families to Adopt the Boy-Who-Lived**_

_Written by Maeve Wilerson_

_A new list of the families who the Ministry of Magic may allow to adopt The-Boy-Who-Lived has been announced today. The list was made available to the public at the time of half past nine on the dot by the Department of Adoption, Inheritance and Registry of Births. The list was complied by a team of eighty one people, lead by Department Leader Meri Longman. These intrepid people interviewed over thirty thousand people, visited nineteen countries, used eighty translators from the International Relations Department and used over twenty thousand hours of labour to produce the short list of just two hundred families who are considered able to take on the Boy-Who-Lived and to care for him properly given his circumstances. _

_Some of the families are:_

_The Malfoys of France,_

_The Johnson-Lindus of Scotland,_

_Irentrov clan from Russia,_

_The Anam-Balshi's of India, _

_The Kitson-Travnites of Australia,_

_The Okamotoki's of Japan…_

…_and one hundred and ninety four more (full list on page nine). These families as well as the rest on the list will be carefully considered and every inch of their lives and their proposals for the Boy-Who-Lived will be picked over and examined by everyone from medi-witches and wizards to psychologists to the Minister himself. No stone will be left unturned, no closet left unsearched and no rumour left unchecked. All people who wish to adopt the boy who some claim as a 'Miracle' must submit to a careful background check and invasive investigations by the Departments involved. Every single care must be made to make sure the Boy-Who-Lived will be happy and contented in his childhood and receive the care and attention a young growing boy needs. The families are being made aware of the responsibility having the young boy stay with them would bring; such as more security measures, publicity in both positive and negative forms and peer pressures. Other problems involve social bonding, threats and attacks on themselves or on their property and estates, or indeed the horrific idea of the young lad being used for political manipulation. The information was reportedly given out in a meeting where either the families who wish to adopt Harry James Potter-Evans or a representative of the family were present. No reporters were allowed inside the hall and no statement was released about the talk itself, beyond a brief summary of the topics._

_The Department of Adoption, Inheritance and Registry of Births released a statement following the closure of the meeting, delivered by Meri Longman saying, "Every care is being made to make the Adoption process as thorough and complete as possible…This is just as important as in every adoption process, but this one is one of the most high profile we have handled in a long time. We hope to find the perfect home for the little lad (Harry James Potter-Evans) but it is a long and difficult process. However, my team and I will work tirelessly to ensure that every measure is taken to give the Boy-Who-Lived the best home possible…We will continue to do so until we are satisfied..." _

_This reporter hopes that Harry James Potter-Evans finds a good and safe home as soon as possible and wishes the Department god-speed and luck in their search…_

Harry stared at the article. He could have adopted by the _**Malfoys**_? The no-good Slytherin bastard Draco Malfoy could have been his –shudder- adopted brother?! Harry tried to imagine himself with blonde hair and failed. Miserably. Looking down the list, Harry wondered what life would have been like if Dumbledore hadn't dumped him on the front door step of Number Four Privet Drive. He could have grown up in India, Japan, Australia…Noticing a paper clip on the top right hand corner, he flipped it over and found what was apparently the page nine the article had mentioned. Scanning down the list, Harry saw that he could have been adopted by Korean families, Irish families, people from Germany, France, Russia, Thailand, China, Spain, Brazil, California, Hawaii, Alaska….The whole world seemed to want to adopt him, or at least they did then. This was…unreal. Harry put the article on the steadily growing pile of those he had read and picked up the next one…Dated the 23rd of December, Harry felt his eyebrows meet his hairline as he read the article. If they could have climbed any higher they probably would've….

_**The Boy-Who-Lived Kidnapped? **_

_Written by Maeve Wilerson_

_The Boy-Who-Lived is believed to have been kidnapped! The one year old Boy who saved Wizarding Britain from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was taken from his current home of __St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, in the North of London.__ Sources say that late last night ten people arrived at St Mungo's Paediatric Unit for Spell Damage and Orphans with a notice of 'Protection'. Medi-Care Witch Milly Bell, 25, who was on duty in the Nursery ward, said "They just stormed in, shoved a sheet of paper under my nose and told me to get the little lad dressed." She then went on to say, "When I tried to summon the Chief of the Ward, the leader appeared to have a heart-attack or something. He shouted at me and said he'd place me under arrest if I tried." _

_Medi-Care Witch Bell was later found stunned and blindfolded in the back cupboard of the Ward. All other patients on the ward were unharmed in the raid. No statement has been issued by the Ministry or the Auror department about the incident, leaving the public worried for the safety of their Saviour. No information is forthcoming on Harry Potter's whereabouts and some fear the worst. Many people suspect rogue Death Eaters, followers of the dead He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and believe that they have taken the Boy-Who-Lived in revenge for their Master's death. The Notice of 'Protection' was left behind in the wake of the raid and was revealed to be a piece of paper charmed to look like a Notice of Protection. The Department of Warrants and Orders of Legalities confirmed the fact they had never issued such an order. _

_The people who were short listed as potential families to adopt the Boy-Who-Lived arrived to demand explanations from the Minister. The Irentrov clan leader Dimitri Isanov Irentrov from Russia spoke on the steps of the Ministry saying "…It has come as a great shock to me and my family to find that the boy who I one day hoped to call a son and heir has been found missing. I am sure it is the same for many of the families here. I had hoped to receive more information on this incident from the British Minister as it is the boy who most of us consider a son already who has gone missing…" He went on to say, "…My family and I would like to see the safe return of Harry James Potter-Evans and will offer a reward of one million Galleons to anyone who gives information leading to the return of the boy who I already hold to dear to me." Most of the other families have already pledged a similar amount, totalling an amount believed to be in excess of 9.8 billion galleons. Whoever gives that piece of information will be very wealthy indeed. _

_Anyone who has any information has been urged to contact the Missing Persons Department in the Ministry Of Magic. The Chief warlock of St Mungo's urges anyone with any information to get in contact due to the fact Mr Potter contracted a serious eye and lung infection, which if left untreated could cause serious damage to many vital organs. His safe return and access to several complex and dangerous potions is vital to his survival. _

_The Daily Prophet's thoughts are with Mr Potter and wish him a safe and speedy return to health and the Hospital. _

Harry put down the sheet of parchment. Placing his head in his hands, he pondered for a moment, rather wistfully. 9.8 billion Galleons for a bit of information on his small self, only to turn up at Hogwarts ten years later. How awful for anyone hoping to claim that reward, he thought rather laconically. He wondered what had happened after his return to the Wizarding world, how people had reacted. Only then to realise and promptly smack himself upside the head, because he could just open another file or continue with this one and he could find out. Re-reading the article Harry spotted the second to last paragraph and contemplated what it meant. He looked out the window and fingering his glasses wondered whether that was why he needed to wear glasses rather than inheriting bad eyesight from his father.

Hang on a moment though. Harry looked at the first article on his adoption and re-read it. Grabbing the guardianship letter/notice thingie he saw that it had a small paragraph at the very bottom, tucked in the left hand corner. It read…

_Enacted on the August 4__th__ 1982, recommissioned on September 3__rd__ 1991. _

Right. Okay. According to this…Harry had been under Dumbledore's guardianship since 1982. So why was he up for adoption then? Unless guardian status had difference connotations in the Wizarding world? Drumming his fingers on the table Harry idly looked around, then for the second time in less than an hour, smacked himself mentally upside the head. What part of library did he miss the first time around? Waving his wand, Harry cast a quiet concealment charm on the desk but left everything just lying there as he consulted one of the many library catalogues secreted about the place. Finding the correct aisle of books, Harry picked out the first one he could find; "_A Guide to Wizarding Legal Terminology" _He flicked it open and found the G section quickly. '_Genocide_' interesting but no… '_Gossip_', no… ah _'Guardian'…_One _who is legally responsible for the care and management of the person or property of an incompetent or a minor. Also can be used to name the person in charge of the minor or incompetent's needs directly. _Hmm…That was news to him in that Dumbledore was in charge of him. A brainwave hit Harry just then and he flicked back in the book until the A section. Quickly finding the paragraph on adoption, Harry lowered the book as he thought. The Adoption definition was that basically the person would have complete parental control over him as well as the legal side of him. But that completely contradicted what the Guardianship meant. If he already had a guardian he couldn't have been put up for adoption. Harry put the book back on the shelf and made his way back to his table.

Composing his thoughts, he tried to put in order what he had learned from the newspaper articles and the letters from Gringotts, and the Guardianship papers. He came up with the conclusion that he was missing out on a large part of his inheritance, Gringotts were trying to help him from being thrown in Azkaban, Dumbledore was secretly his guardian and he didn't know about it, and he had once been for adoption but before that could have been completed he was kidnapped. Now that he had that sorted out, he turned to what he could do with this information and indeed why someone had sent it.

To that effect he came up with three conclusions:

Conclusion one: This was all a nefarious plot by Voldemort to set him on edge, and sway his faith in the real world. To combat this he should throw the whole thing in the bin, consult Dumbledore on the matter and put it out of his mind. Forever.

Conclusion two: This was a crackpot scheme by someone _other than Voldemort (most likely a Slytherin or Death Eater) _to make him feel on edge; most likely a Rita Skeeter wannabe or someone. Again, to combat this he should throw the whole thing in the bin, consult Dumbledore on the matter and put it out of his mind. Forever.

Conclusion three: This was true and genuine which meant he should no longer trust dear darling Dumbles and should immediately stop paying the man and his suggestions any mind. To fulfil this, he should try to get in touch with the Bank and endeavour to find out exactly what was going down and therefore prepare himself for it. He could also do a little self-investigation and see if what he came up with matched what he was finding here.

Harry knew he should be a self-sacrificing Gryffindor and search out Dumbledore because he was a small teenager and the man had much more experience with these kinds of things and should always be consulted when it came to things like this. He knew in his heart and soul he should be dismissing every single little thing in this envelope and carrying on with his best friends-turned limpets, telling them about this and asking them what he should do. He knew he should. He absolutely, completely and utterly knew what he should be doing.

He elected not to and instead decided to read on instead….

* * *

--+--+--+--+--+--

That is it, I am done – I can do no more than I have done because if I have to write one more newspaper article I will kill myself. Onto more promising things I have something for those of you who want to do it.

It's a CHALLENGE:

**Power Challenge**

**Right, here we go...**

**I have a little challenge for all those of who want to enter it. It's quite simple really but it will keep you guessing… or at least it should unless I've given myself away too soon. I don't think I have though….**

**The challenge is this: **

**I want ****you**** to tell ****me**** who you think sent the information in the envelope.**

**I will warn you, there is a high possibility of it being more than one person but NOT guaranteed. You decide…but that was quite a big hint in case you missed it the first time around. You can guess on every chapter up to and including chapter seventeen but any guesses posted on the eighteenth chapter and onwards will be dismissed without second thought. **

**Your guesses should be posted in your review if you want to, or you can send it to me in a PM if you want to keep it a secret. Any character in the book is acceptable up to and including Voldemort. I should warn you, it's book characters only. Slightly Doubtful Boy from the film will not be accepted, but the name of the boy whom I have temporarily forgotten will be allowed. **

**I should warn you, more information is coming up so, just keep guessing is good advice at the moment. **

**THE REWARD is what I decide dependant on how close you get it – whether you guess right, or just fifty percent. I do have several one shots and am taking requests so it's quite likely to be one of those….**

All that's left to say is good luck and keep guessing!

Please review on the way out, and if you could depart through the fire exits at the back of the building, that would be much appreciated…thank you ladies and gentlemen for reading and GOOD NIGHT!


End file.
